


You Can Win the Battle and The War

by SilentScreamer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Recovery, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentScreamer/pseuds/SilentScreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Nogitsune is banished nothing feels right to Stiles. His body has never felt more foreign, he has never felt more disconnected from the pack.</p>
<p>One step forward, three steps backwards it seems like to those around Stiles but Derek isn't going to stand idly by and watch Stiles waste away into nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Win the Battle and The War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ihni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/gifts).



> This is for Ihni (tumblr)! I hope that this story is everything you ever wanted and much, much more. I hope that I fulfilled what you wanted, there are some parts towards the end that might seem rushed but I think it fit in with the narrative but please tell me what you guys think <3

As Stiles drifts slowly back into the world of consciousness the smell of sterility, a feel of scratchy and starchy sheets, and the beep-beep of a nearby machine greet him along with the feeling of a warm, strong hand intertwined with his.

Stiles tries to speak but swallowing proves more difficult than he expects and when he tries to rub at his jaw with his free hand he panics when he feels a padded lined cuff encase his wrist and keep it firmly in place by his side.

“Stiles..” a distant voice murmurs while Stiles tries to breathe deeply though his nose and he feels familiar calloused hands take the side of his cheek and Stiles knows those hands, knows how much he has put this person through recently and he really has no right to lean into the familiar touch of his father. After all that Stiles has done he doesn’t deserve the warmth of these hands or the stilted murmurs of probable reassurance that Stiles would be able to hear if he could focus on the words.

Biting down on his lip, Stiles blinks his eyes open and the unabashed smile on his dad’s face pains Stiles more than he’d ever like to admit. He doesn’t deserve that smile after what he’d done.

Stiles feels the tip of a straw against his lips, “Come on buddy, small sips,” the Sheriff says as he coaxes Stiles to take his fill of water.

“H-H-How long have I been out,” Stiles finally manages to squeak out around his heavy tongue and sore throat.

“Two days. Scott brought you in after you collapsed at the school; all your friends are out in the waiting room. I should tell them you’re awake,” John says and Stiles watches him rise out of the hospital chair and from the indentation it doesn’t look like his dad has so much as left for a food break in the past forty eight hours.

“N-N-No,” Stiles manages to say as he grips his dad’s hand tightly “Not yet,” he adds.

“They’re really worried about you son,” John says back but Stiles sighs happily as his dad nonetheless retakes his seat by his bedside, once again slipping his hand further into Stiles’ grip.

Stiles can’t bear to see the hurt and hope fleet across his father’s face and instead settles for the view of the beige colored walls opposite his father “Scott will know I’m awake from my heartbeat. I just can’t, not yet,” Stiles says unable to find the words to convey how if he had his way he wouldn’t see any of the pack again because how is he supposed to look at them without seeing all that he did and vice versa?  
…………………………………………………………………………………………..

“They don’t blame you son. It wasn’t your fault,” John says stiltedly a little while later because no matter how much he believes in that statement he knows that Stiles got Claudia’s reasoning and once either one of them made up their minds on something their minds are made up.

Stiles ignores his dad’s words because this is his dad—the same man that has yet to find a real situation where he can’t reason away his son’s actions. Like the time that Stiles shoved Jackson to the ground and the school had wanted to suspend him; his dad had come in like the knight and shining armor that he had always thought his dad was growing up and explained how maybe Jackson should keep his comments about Stiles’ mom to himself if he didn’t want to get pushed down.

Stiles laughs as he remembers that memory—remembers how red his dad’s face was and how he took him out for ice cream afterwards and told him that it would get better. That was 2 months after they buried his mom and was the first real conversation the two had had since his dad had left Stiles in that hospital room to watch his mom die, alone.

“But if I was like them this would have never happened,” Stiles remarks bitterly because it’s true if he hadn’t been human then all this could have been avoided. Stiles used to wear his breakable human bones as a badge of honor, had never really considered Peter’s offer to turn him because as much as the perks of being faster and stronger appeal to him he likes being human.

He thought being a human had just as much value as being a werewolf in the pack because he remembers Derek talking with pride about his human pack mates he had growing up. Derek had mentioned, once, that humans help provide the wolves with an anchor to humanity and he thought that anchor was way better than disappearing eyebrows and wolf transformations.

Or he did anyways.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Are you sure this is what you want Stiles?” Melissa asks as she places the restraints on the bed later that night after Stiles had convinced his dad that he was okay and he wanted him to go home, sleep, and shower.

Shrugging, “What I want and what I need are two very different things,” Stiles mutters as he fingers one of the cuffs in his hands.

Stiles feels Melissa grab his face and force him to look at her “You don’t have anything to feel ashamed of or sorry for,” she says gesturing to the cuffs and adding “we only want what’s best for you.”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat Stiles nods, “I know, just do it,” he says giving Melissa one last significant look before staring at the ceiling as he feels Melissa move down to the end of the bed to apply the ankle restraints first.

Stiles feels Melissa sweep some strands of his hair away from his sweat damp forehead as she finishes locking the wrists restraints into place. Stiles watches Melissa out of the corner of his eye lean down and kiss his forehead before she pushes the call button firmly into his hands. “Don’t hesitate to push this button if you change your mind. One press and you say the word and this all goes away,” she adds as Stiles leans into her hands that are currently raking their way through his hair.

Stiles gives a low whine of protest before nodding in Melissa’ direction.

“Tomorrow I’ll help you into the shower and we can see what we can do about this rats nest hmm? Maybe after your scan we can do that okay?”

Stiles simply squeezes Melissa’s hand feebly to show that he heard her and when Melissa realizes that’s all she is going to get Stiles feels her kiss his cheek one final time before watching her excuse herself leaving him with one final “Sleep well Stiles.”

Stiles hears the sniffles that Melissa undoubtedly tries to hide as she walks back towards the nurse’s station and Stiles is left to wonder when he’ll stop letting those around him down, when he’ll finally stop making everyone around him cry, when he’ll finally let them be free of all that’s fucked up because it seems like everything he touches turns to shit one way or another.

The last thought that swivels around in his medicated, hazy mind is how if he’d never gone to Scott’s that night that he heard about the dead body on the police scanner none of this would have ever happened. Allison would still be alive, Scott would still be normal, Melissa wouldn’t have had her life upended by his innate curiosity, and he’d never have fractured his relationship with his father in the first place.

The saying “curiosity killed the cat,” was a load of bullshit as far as Stiles is concerned because at the end of the day those that actually deserve to die or bring on the curiosity always make it through to the other side unscathed; it’s the bystanders that carry the heaviest burden.

And isn’t that the worst part of it all, Stiles thinks, as he finally gives into the sleep tugging at his body.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Stiles’ return to consciousness the next morning is more pleasant than his previous awakening. Stiles allows his eyes to blink and adjust to the overhead light and unlike yesterday when the weight around his ankles and wrists sent him into a panic today they are a welcomed, familiar weight.

Tugging a bit to see just how far he can move his limbs Stiles smiles at the confining weight and lets out a relieved sigh feeling his limbs buoy back towards the restraints unable to move far at all. Most would find the cuffs demeaning and would think that it’d remind Stiles of the Nogitsune and how confided he’d felt then—confined to feeling everything the Nogitsune did, to all the pain it took and caused without having the means of stopping the carnage that was contorted because of him. But while he felt trapped with the Nogitsune, like a bystander that had to bide time and fight for dominance, the restraints feel like a different kind of weight. It feels like a good weight in Stiles’ mind.

The restraints blessedly feel deserved and while no one will ever understand why he needs this to Stiles they feels like a sort of solitary penance’; a way to make amends.  
There is nothing that Stiles can do to bring those that he hurt back or make the pain he caused countless others lessen but he can try and atone in his own way.

The cuffs also offer more than singular penance. They feel safe because Stiles knows with them on he can’t hurt anyone, the restraints make it feel like he can start to trust his body which is something that he hasn’t been able to feel in the two months that he had been possessed.

One final time Stiles breathes in the peace and calmness that thrums through his body—something that he had never felt since he was diagnosed with ADHD—and pushes the call button.

Melissa greets him with a smile, the same smile that she’s reserves for him alone since he and Scott had become friends and she sets to work on freeing his limbs and helping him sit up.

“I know how much you hate hospital food so I snuck you in this,” she says in a stage whisper as she passes over a morning special from Lucy’s.

Stiles accepts the bagel spread with a smile and tries to ignore the way his stomach rolls feeling the greasy weight of the food in his hands. “Thanks,” he replies nibbling a bit at the edges of the bagel “how’d you know I liked Lucy’s famous # 22?” he adds as he takes another bite feeling his traitorous stomach roll at the food’s added weight.

“You dad mentioned it last time,” Melissa says trailing off knowing that she doesn’t need to specify what the last time was.

Stiles watches Melissa warm up her stethoscope between her hands before lifting the hem of his hospital gown, “deep breaths for me,” she says as Stiles feels her move the stethoscope around his back.

“Breathing sounds better. Did you sleep okay?” Melissa asks as he finishes monitoring Stiles’ breathing and taking his vitals all the while Stiles notices her eyeing the restraints with thinly veiled contempt.

Taking one last bite of his bagel special Stiles nods “There were fewer nightmares,” but Stiles doesn’t elaborate that he thinks that maybe the familiar weight around his limbs had had something to do with it.

“Your scan is set for 3 today and then a hospital nutritionist is going to come talk to you and help you set up a new meal plan. Got to get you in fighting shape for lacrosse,” Melissa replies and Stiles feels her squeeze one of his bony shoulders.

Stiles snorts as he sets down the half eaten breakfast offering, “My dad can’t afford the scan or the nutritionist. You can just discharge me I’ll be fine.”

Stiles observes Melissa sit down at the end of the hospital bed and Stiles watches her heave a long sigh “Stiles you mentioned wanting the test and it’ll help put your dad’s mind at ease. Don’t worry about the money. Let your dad take care of you and figure out the finance part of it.”

“We’re supposed to take care of each other. I’ve been making sure he eats healthy and have cleared out all his whisky bottles since I could reach the sink. I promised my mom,” Stiles replies shrugging.

“Stiles honey,” Mellissa says and Stiles feels her grab ahold of one of his shoulders “It sounds like you’ve done a lot to help your dad and your mom would be proud but just like your dad needed help after your mom you need help now and that’s okay.”

“After everything…” Stiles starts but Melissa silences him with her fingers on his lips.

“No, no Stiles this could have happened to anyone. If it were Allison,” Melissa says choking up “if it was Allison would you have blamed her? Would you have left her alone when she needed help? Chris let me know that you were one of the few in the pack that reached out to her after her mom died and you didn’t excuse what she did to Erica and Boyd but you understood.”

Stiles shrinks further into the scratchy hospital blankets and shrugs because at the time Allison hadn’t even been interested in Stiles’ help.

“Listen Stiles this wasn’t your fault. The Nogitsune didn’t choose you because you were weak. I might have had my doubts about you in the beginning when you convinced Scott to jump off the roof because Batman could do it but you are loyal and have always taken care of everyone now let someone take care of you,” Melissa utters and Stiles feels her give his shoulder another warm squeeze.

Stiles lets himself be pulled into the warmth of Melissa’s arms and nods against her shoulders sniffling. “Scott did get a batman cast out of the deal that matched his Halloween costume that year,” Stiles laughs smiling wetly.  
\  
Melissa rolls her eyes “So what do you say, up for some visitors before your scan?”

Stiles nods and grabs the restraints from Melissa simply saying “For later?”

Melissa smiles sadly and nods.  
……………………………………………………………………………………..

Stiles observes that Scott barrels through the hospital door with his same unabashed puppy like tendencies while Lydia follows at her more leisurely, reserved pace settling for a smile as she sinks into the hospital chair by his bed.

“My mom says that she fought the hospital on the restraints buddy,” Scott opens with as he glares at the cuffs as though they personally offended him but when it comes to Stiles maybe everything does offend him Stiles thinks. Stiles shrugs and replies “No big deal man,” as he tries to move the conversation to safer topics (were there any though?) because he doesn’t think Scott will understand why he needs them.

“You aren’t some monster or someone who’s suicidal even if we did have to fudge up a cover story for why you are covered in bruises,” Scott says.

“Hospital protocol. Really man it’s no big deal,” Stiles adds trying to reassure Scott.

Scott looks like he is ready to protest or question why Stiles isn’t more indignant because Stiles knows Scott understands how much he hates it when decisions are made for him but Lydia, god bless the strawberry blonde goddess, cuts Scott off before he can lodge a counter protest.

“We’ve been grabbing your schoolwork for you. Your dad said the school wants you to do classes over the summer but we grabbed it anyways,” Lydia says as she dumps some notebooks and books onto Stiles’ bed.

“I told Ms. Murphy that you’d have no problem making up the AP work. I mean all we have left is the poetry analysis which you can do no problem,” Lydia says smiling at Stiles.  
Stiles snorts “I appreciate you standing up for my academic integrity,” as he looks through Finstock’s economics worksheets littered with veiled threats of cheating not being tolerated.

“I expect you to still match me GPA point for GPA point. Suzanne Widows is walking around school talking about how she thinks that this is her big break to muscle past you into the salutatorian spot,” Lydia says with thinly veiled disdain. “You won’t let that happen though will you? As if some fox demon has anything on you,” Lydia says aiming for coyness.

Rolling his eyes, “Pfft as if,” Stiles says in a strained voice, “I’ll make sure Suzanne doesn’t see this as her big break.”

Lydia nods primly and adds “Let me know if you need any help or my notes and I’ll lend them to you but this is a onetime offer so use it wisely,” Lydia says smirking.

“Can we not talk about school,” Scott says trying to change the subject before Stiles and Lydia get into some rapid fire school talk that only they’ll be able to understand. “My mom says you’ll be able to leave after you talk to the nutritionist and therapist,” Scott says his voice tinged with his usual exuberance it takes on whenever he talks to Stiles.  
If Stiles was being honest though the thought of going home terrifies him more than he is willing to admit but he smiles nonetheless because he figures that it’s the least he can do for Scott after the mess of the past few months.

“I can come over after school and we can play video games” Scott asks carefully, in a much more restrained and cautious voice.

“I never turn down a video game marathon,” Stiles says as he tries to force a smile onto his face but from the look on Scott’s own features he can guess that he isn’t completely successful in that reassurance endeavor.

Stiles heaves out a small sigh and says, “Look it’s not you guys, I’m just..” he says his voice trailing off.

Stiles watches Lydia forcer her way onto his bed and watches her sit on the other side of him before she lays her head on his shoulder while reaching across Stiles for Scott’s hand before she says “We get it Stiles, don’t we Scott.”

Stiles watches Scott swallow down a lump in his throat before he replies “Well actually I don’t but I just want the old Stiles back but if that means waiting for your to make the move Stiles then so be it. I’ve always been the follower in this relationship but ever since I got bit you’ve been the one doing the following but I’m content to sit back and let you take the lead on this one buddy.”

Stiles releases a low noise, somewhere in the middle of a whine and a whimper, before he says “I don’t think the old Stiles is coming back Scottie.”

“Of course not but it will get better. I thought that after Peter mind controlled me and finished being his generally psychotic self that nothing would ever get back to normal. I thought that the voices and the banshee powers would be too much but you guys being there, the pack being there helped. We’re a pack Stiles and no fox demon can break that bond and we might be one member short,” Lydia says breathing heavily as though she is trying to keep the tears at bay before continuing, “We might be one member short but we’re still pack and pack means that no one gets left behind,” Lydia says as she squeezes one of Stiles’ hands.

“I’ll always be your alpha man, but more than that I’m your brother. Nothing’s ever going to change that. You didn’t abandon me when I acquired my hairy problem or when I tried to attack you the night of the full moon. Nothing’s gonna change bro whether you go back to your old self of not,” Scott says as he claps Stiles on the back.

Stiles wills the tears that he feels that are about to fall to go away before shakily asking “Are puppy piles still a thing?”

Stiles feels Lydia guide his head towards the pillows and watches as Scott wraps his hands around Stiles’ midsection while he also guides his knees under the press of Stiles’ own. Lydia settles for putting her hand on the side of Stiles’ face and allows the pads of her fingers to press over the faint tear tracks she can see running down Stiles’ face.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles mutters and no one thinks to question what he is apologizing for and maybe even more importantly neither Scott nor Lydia even thinks about correcting him.  
It feels like a hollow victory for Lydia when Stiles meekly smiles before he drifts off to a restless sleep.

“That’s not how I envisioned this going,” Scott mutters sadly as he latches one of his hands over Stiles’ hands and begins to draw out some of the pain that Stiles has refused to allow him to do up to this point.

Lydia squeezes Scott’s other hand that is lying over Stiles’ increasingly small stomach “He’s right though he’ll never be the same but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

  
“I just want one thing to stay constant, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that Stiles not be included in this shit.”

“He included himself the day you were bit Scott. It’s been the Scott and Stiles show for as long as anyone can remember in Beacon Hills. He’d never abandon you just because you grow sideburns once a month and like to munch on neighborhood Thumpers,” Lydia remarks.

“But he can’t protect himself,” Scott fires back as he finishes leeching away some of the pain shaking his head to ward off any residual dizziness.

Lydia deadpans at Scott for a second before she mutters “Bullshit. Stiles has never been a defenseless damsel in distress; he hasn’t been that in a long time and if you can’t see that Scott McCall than you really aren’t as well versed in Stiles speak as I think you are.”

“But..” Scott tries.

“No, just because Stiles , myself, or Allison,” Lydia says choking up again “just because we don’t sprout fangs and claws doesn’t means we are weak. Stiles and I can both give as good as we get and we don’t see being human, being malleable and breakable as a bad thing.”

“You really think that Stiles still sees it that way?” Scott asks. “Peter told me he offered him the bite and even though Stiles said no he could detect his lie.”

“First of all we don’t believe anything that Peter Hale says and even if that’s true Stiles will learn to value his humanness again. Being human and being a werewolf really aren’t all that different you still have to learn to control your body and I think Stiles is using the restraints as a way to control his body,” Lydia says.

Scott breathes out the anger he feels build up at the mention of the restraints through his nose before he says, “What do you mean?”

“Ever since you were bitten Stiles has never had control over anything everything we’ve done is reactionary to what the latest big bad has done. Stiles likes control which is why he is so selective of who he lets in and also why he likes to dominate conversations only to litter them with words that don’t ever actually represent what he really wants to say if you think about it,” Lydia says moving her fingers up to rake through Stiles’ hair. “The Nogitsune thrived on control but even with that Stiles never had any real control over what his body did when he was possessed. Melissa says the restraints were his idea so it’s Stiles’ way of feeling safe and in control over his own skin and actions again. I focused on makeup when I was recovering—I used makeup as a way to control what people saw and what I let others see—and really Stiles is simply using BDSM techniques to find that balance of control again,” Lydia says shrugging and adding “it’s not uncommon.”

“So that’s it we can’t do anything but wait,” Scott asks trying not to be turned off at how he can feel every single one of Stiles’ ribs through the opening of the hospital gown.  
Lydia smiles sadly and nods “He’ll be okay Scott because he’s strong, you know that. It’ll just take time.”

Scott nods and hides his head in Stiles’ shoulder and takes solace in that fact that beneath the layer of hospital smells Stiles smells like Stiles again. Scott inhales deeply the rich scent of cinnamon, sweat, gun oil, and the thrum of energy and reminds himself that even if Stiles needs time he can take solace in the fact that he finally has his brother back.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Stiles changes into his Beacon Hills Lacrosse hoodie and his dad’s old police academy sweatpants after Melissa helped him shower and he tries not to think about how mortifying that experience was for all involved. Stiles is also steadfastly ignoring how out breath merely standing up in a shower has made him.

“Ready kiddo,” John asks wheeling the hospital wheelchair over to Stiles’ bed breaking him out of his reverie.

Stiles finishes towel drying the rest of his hair before he nods and looks disdainfully at the wheelchair.

“Hospital policy kid,” John says as he squeezes Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’m not some invalid,” Stiles bites out as he lowers himself into the chair.

John starts to wheel Stiles out of his room and through the hospital corridors as he says, “No one ever said you are.”

Biting at one of his hangnails Stiles whispers “What if the scans weren’t a trick dad,” as he steadfastly looks at the cream colored floors.

“I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t overjoyed when we came to the conclusion that the initial scans were a trick. It’s probably the first time I thought that maybe the supernatural wasn’t all bad,” John says trailing off.

“But?” Stiles asks prodding his dad.

John slows down the wheelchair as they approach the scanning room “You are still my son no matter what Stiles. All those nights of eating carrots and tofu burgers have ensured that I’ll be around a lot longer so no matter what we’ll figure something out,” John says coming around to the front of the wheelchair and crouching in front of Stiles.  
“I can’t make you go through this again. Not after mom, not after everything else I’ve put you through.”

“When you’re a parent you know that you sign up for the good and the bad. You are still my son and I only want to trade you in 50% of the time but that’s on par with any other parent’s projections,” John says squeezing Stiles’ knee.

“John, Stiles,” Doctor Quinn announces as he effectively puts an end to the Stilinski family moment as he shakes each man’s hand. “So today will be the same setup with the scanning. It should take about an hour which is on par with how long it took last time,” the doctor explains as he looks down at his clipboard.

“I’ll just be in the other side of the window, son” John says as Stiles situates himself on the machine’s gurney.

“Okay, Stiles again try not to move and we’ll get to the bottom of this okay?” Doctor Quinn says into the microphone on the other side of the window as Stiles feels himself be wheeled into the machine.

“Right,” Stiles mutters lowly as he hears the machine begin to beep signaling the start of the scan. Stiles lets out a small breath and tries to will his brain to not flashback to the last time he was in here.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

John feels a presence at his back about half an hour into the procedure and smiles wanly as he feels Melissa slip her smooth hand into his calloused one.

“So far nothing,” Doctor Quinn pipes up next to them as he analyzes the incoming brain scans. John notes the hint of amazement that tints the doctors words and John wonders what the doctor would think of all of this if he knew the circumstances regarding the initial test’s outcomes.

John thinks that the medical community will either hail Stiles’ case as one giant misunderstanding and as a cautionary tale on rushing to judgment while other circles will call it some medical miracle and John just thinks this is the cap on a rather shitty year. No more, no less.

“See John he’ll be fine,” John hears Melissa whisper into his ear.

“Last night we restrained him to a bed so he could sleep,” John mutters just as lowly turning his head away from his son in the other room in favor of looking at Melissa.

John feels Melissa squeeze his hand “You have to respect his decision. The brain is a tricky unknown and Stiles has always been wired differently,” Melissa says chuckling.  
“What if this is simply the new normal? What if he never gets over the hyper vigilance, the panic attacks, the PTSD, or the need for the restraints Mel” John replies trying not to think about how hard it was with Stiles’ mom at the end when she dealt with the same symptoms. But John made it through that, barely because he knew that he had needed to be strong for Stiles but John doesn’t think he can go through that again.

Not when nothing would be waiting at the end of the tunnel.

“After Claudia died Stiles was moody, he acted out. It wasn’t out of the ordinary given what he’d seen at the end. But after she died he got into fights with classmates, talked back to teachers, pushed everyone away but it didn’t last forever; it was a phase. A coping mechanism just like the restraints and the fight for control by picking at what he eats is a coping mechanism. It’ll take some time but this time he isn’t alone, you aren’t alone,” Melissa says.

John nods and releases his breath breaking eye contact with Melissa in favor of alternating his sightlines from the doctor to Stiles.

“There doesn’t seem to be any signs of atrophy Mr. Stilinski,” the doctor confirms as Stiles is wheeled out of the machine. “He’s a lucky kid,” the doctor adds as John grabs his jacket and heads for the door thinking that Stiles has never been characterized as being lucky certainly not after what he’d just lived through.

Stiles was playing with the strings of his hoodie as John watches him take a seat in the wheelchair that Melissa had presented to him. “As much as this has been a pleasure Stiles I hope that I’ll never have to see you again,” Doctor Quinn states smiling before he heads back to the nurse’s station to continue with his rounds.

John watches his son smile weakly at Melissa before turning to him and saying “So that’s it?”

“All clear buddy,” John says leaning down to give Stiles a hug and he resolutely decides not to comment on how he can feel his shirt being soaked with Stiles’ tears as he feels his son’s shaking sobs.

“Shh, shh you’re fine” John says crouching down further and taking his son’s face in his hands.

“We’ve broken at least three Stilinski family rules in the last 24 hours,” Stiles says hiccupping before adding “We never talk about mom, cry, or hug each other remember?”  
John lets out a watery laugh of his own before he grabs the handles of Stiles’ wheelchair and begins wheeling him back to his room “Rules are meant to be broken kid.”  
John helps Stiles back into his hospital bed and shakes the Beacon Hills Lacrosse fleece blanket over his son’s prone form before saying, “Even rules about healthy eating are meant to be broken in times like these. How about I grab us two burghers from the diner by the police station?”

“After this only salads for a month,” Stiles replies and John watches his son pull the fleece blanket up closer to his face, almost burrowing into it.

John smiles pushing Stiles’ unruly hair away from his face before saying “Deal.”

If there was one thing, John thinks, that the military taught him it’s that wars aren’t won on grand gestures and stands; rather wars are hard fought and won after the accumulation of many small victories and maybe this is the first of many small victories that John will make sure Stiles wins.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Stiles huddles himself into his flannel shirt and adds a hoodie in his attempts to ward off the permanent chill that seems to be rooted in his bones. When the nutritionist came around yesterday she had said that the chill was due to all the weight that he’d lost and had left him with a food guide and schedule to follow. Deaton and Scott said that the permanent cold chill that seemed to hang over him connects back to the pain that the Nogitsune had left thrumming through his bones after he’d been exorcised.

Stiles finds that the pain thrumming through his bones like toxic blood keeps him grounded—after all it’s hard to get lost in hazy memories when you have near constant pain that keeps you focused on how to take your next breath without causing more pain. The thrum of pain keeps him rooted in the here and now, Stiles thinks as he packs up the rest of the clothes and get well cards that had accumulated over his weeklong stay in the hospital.

Also, if maybe Stiles feels like the pain is deserved, and another aim at solitary penance, no one ever needs to know because Stiles reasons that no one else would understand.  
Well, maybe Derek would Stiles thinks as he zips up his duffel bag. He thinks that because of Kate Derek would understand but Derek is off being lone wolf again and Stiles hasn’t seen him since Scott loaded him up in his car to take him to the hospital that night at the school so he can’t really ask his opinion on the matter.

Stiles is broken out of his reverie by his dad tapping on the door and asking “Ready to go home?” “Before you argue you know the wheelchair is hospital policy,” John adds.  
Stiles grabs ahold of his duffel bag before he mumbles under his breath about how he isn’t an invalid but sits down in the wheelchair anyways and watches the cream colored walls blur together on his way out of the hospital.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Stiles does his best to ignore his dad’s hovering along with the pained look his dad gets in his eyes whenever he rushes into his room to break him out of the throes of whatever nightmare is haunting his subconscious that night. Stiles thinks bitterly that the images of stabbing Scott playing on a loop, or the pictures of the carnage of the police station will never not haunt his subconscious.

Tonight Stiles had dreamed about how the pack had never been able to exorcise the demon and that the Nogitsune was still waiting in the lurches to take over his body again.

  
Stiles hears his dad whisper “You’re okay, he’s gone, we’re all fine,” on a loop and Stiles feels like this is a step backwards. At least in the hospital the nightmares had been chased away by heavy medication and the restraints but now he’s vulnerable without either of those options.

Stiles understands that his dad probably expects some flip to be switched in his recovery, especially now that he’s home, but Stiles thinks home leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

  
Stiles thinks that the Nogitsune tainted everything in his life and he doubts he’ll be able to look at his room, the police station, the hospital, or even the school without being flooded with guilt. Stiles used to think he wanted to stay in Beacon Hills forever, to help the pack, but now all Beacon Hills is for him is a living ghost town that he can’t wait to get away from.

His room, he thinks in particular, is a microcosm of everything. All he sees when he enters his room now are the remnants of his manic depressive search for the Nogitsune or his aborted messages meant to lead his dad and the pack down the right road.

Stiles thinks as he feels his dad lay down behind him and push Stiles firmly against his hard, comforting chest that he knows his dad would throw everything out of his room and start anew but he just isn’t sure how to ask.

Isn’t sure he even has the right to ask for such a new beginning when so many were left with untold stories  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

After he wakes his dad up for the fourth night in a row during his second week home, Stiles stops taking the sleeping meds the hospital had prescribed.

They weren’t working anyway.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

A few nights later Stiles waits until he hears his dad trudge up the stairs and he holds his breath as feels his dad footfall’s stop just outside his door where he hears his dad’s heavy breathing linger before continuing down to his room, the room that was always meant to be shared by two.

Hearing his dad turn in for the night, Stiles grabs his blankets from his bed and shoves himself into a cranny near the back of his closet and shuts the door so he’s plunged into darkness.

The thing is is that Stiles knows he’s tired. He’s learned to survive on catnaps here and there growing up when his mom was sick and in the hospital; growing up in a hospital you learn to sneak moments of slumber where you can whether it be in waiting room chairs or abandoned hallways. But the Nogitsune left him with a bone deep weariness, pain, as well as tiredness that no amount of cat naps and coffee seems to be able to keep at bay.

Yet succumbing to the images Stiles knows his subconscious will draw to the forefront the minute he gives into the tiredness leaves sleep as an unappetizing option.

Stiles hasn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep since the back to back nights he slept in the restraints after he had initially woken up. Stiles couldn’t explain it but those two nights had probably been the best nights of sleep he’d gotten in years—Stiles thinks that he was able to sleep so well because his subconscious felt contained and safe enough to dream knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get out or hurt anyone.

The restraints had felt like a weight which had anchored him and his dreaming self but Stiles had also seen the pained look that entered his dad’s eyes whenever he had watched Melissa put them on Stiles.

So Stiles had given up the serenity of sleep to appease the broken look in his dad’s eyes because his dad had sacrificed so much already so it was the least he could do, Stiles had thought at the time.

Stiles was always good at putting everyone before himself, putting their peace and wellbeing before his own.

Everyone had fought and put so much into finding him, that giving up things that brought comfort to Stiles, but were off-putting to others, seemed like a reasonable decision at the time but now Stiles doesn’t think he can sleep without the familiar weight of the restraints.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

When Stiles had arrived home he’d forgotten how satisfying the burn and weight of the restraints were until he’d tried to sleep in his old bed for the first time and felt the coldness of a panic attack within minutes of trying to drift off to sleep that first night at home.

Throwing the trash out in the garage the next day Stiles came across a package of his dad’s zip ties and he found himself grabbing the package before he could reason himself out of it.

Holding the zip ties in his hands tonight, in the plunging darkness of his closet, he can remember how content he had felt when he’d been tethered to the bed in the hospital. So, Stiles takes out one of the zip ties and tightens the plastic restraints over his wrists with his teeth. He just needs some time to make his brain shut off.

He just needs something to stop the buzz beneath his skin and press the stop button on the images dancing beneath his eyelids and again the ties were just there when he’d gone out to take out the trash the other day.

It’s like they had been calling out to him and while the ties aren’t as comfortable as the lined cuffs from the hospital Stiles welcomes the pain, relished the tightness of the zip ties.  
Stiles understands how unhealthy prolonged use of the ties are but he just needs sleep; just a few hours so he doesn’t have to look into the guilty face of his father tomorrow when he will evade questions about sleep or mumble answers that those with human ears can’t hear.

Stiles lets his head awkwardly rest on the wood of his closet and waits for dreamless sleep to take over. He keeps his phone next to him having set his alarm for 7 the next morning so he will have time to migrate back to his bed ensuring that his dad will be none the wiser of his seedy night details as he drifts off to sleep.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Stiles is trying to catch up on the mountain of homework that has accumulated in his possession absence, and is still accumulating given the fact that he can’t step foot outside of his house to go to the grocery store let alone school, the next day when his dad interrupts his attempts to make sense of his economics homework. “Have you seen those zip ties that I kept in the garage? Parrish called saying that the station was running low on them,” John says letting his hips rest on the doorjamb.

“No you told me and I quote Stiles if you touch them I and going to give you a whole lecture on misappropriating county resources,” Stiles says smirking at his dad as he feels his hands migrate subconsciously downwards to rub at the slight abrasive and discolored circular indentions forming around his wrists from using the aforementioned zip ties the past two nights.

Stiles notes that his dad pretends not to see his involuntary tell that gives him away, and he knows that in any other circumstance his dad would push back but everyone seems to be unwilling to push him these days afraid that he’ll break, “I’ll let Parrish know to just order another batch then,” Stiles’ dad says.

Stiles nods as he turns his head back to his economics work only to see his dad walk further into his room and sit down on his rarely used bed.

“Melissa says that Scott hasn’t heard from you since you got out of the hospital want to talk about that?

Stiles shrugs as he finishes one of the problems on the page before looking up at his dad and saying “Guess I just don’t know what to say.”

“He’s lost a lot son, I don’t think he wants to lose you either,” Stiles hears his dad add as their eyes meet before Stiles looks away to take in the mitigated disaster that is his room with clothes strewn everywhere and half eaten food lying around as though they were some peace offerings to some god. Stiles can’t even think about what he’d wish for anymore if he ever got the chance; there is so much he has to atone for, so much help he needs that he just doesn’t know where to start.

Stiles bites down on his lips until he tastes the bitter tang of blood coat his tongue before he swivels his head back to look at his dad directly in the eyes and says “Dad I need to finish this,” and gestures to his homework sheet and open book

Stiles sees his dad clench his jaw before his dad bites out “Dinner’s in 15 minutes,” before his dad leaves his room and Stiles lets out a wary sigh. He seems to be sighing a lot lately.  
…………………………………………………………………………………

Stiles has several false starts before he finally settles on sending Scott a simple text.

To: Batman  
From: Robin “What’s up dude?”

Stiles is finishing up another set of economics problems when he hears the familiar ding alerting him to an incoming message.

_From: Scott_   
_To: Stiles  “Just got back from Argents. Helped Isaac pack up. You?_

Stiles briefly wonders, as he is looking at the text message, whether he should reach out to either Argent or Isaac but since most days Stiles doesn’t leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary he figures he probably wouldn’t even make it across town before turning back.

The thought still counts though right?

_To: Batman_  
 _From: Robin “Finishing up Coach’s packet. I think he gave me less work or something because there aren’t nearly enough Finstock stumpers in here dude,”_ Stiles types as he throws his cellphone down and turns back to the problems.

_From: Scott_   
_To: Stiles  “All the teachers feel bad man. Your dad told them about the FTD scare; milk it for all it’s worth buddy.”_

Stiles lets out a hollow laugh before he puts down his phone and he tells himself that he’ll text Scott back again later; maybe after he finishes this page of problems but even as he says that to himself he knows that he won’t follow through on that.

He knows no one will call him out on it either and he can’t tell which feels worse.

But his dad never did say how much he had to interact with Scott, only that he should. At least if he asks Stiles will be able to say with a semi clean conscience that yes he had talked to Scott.  
………………………………………………………………………………….

“I talked to Scott,” Stiles says by way of greeting the next morning as he takes a swig of orange juice from the cartoon.

Stiles feels ridiculously happy at the small smile his dad gives him.  
………………………………………………………………………………….

The next night Stiles hears his dad knock on his door and sees him poke his head in as he is finishing up an AP Physics problem set. “I’m gonna head to bed kiddo don’t stay up too late alright?”

Stiles wipes the vestiges of impending sleep from his eyes before he looks at his dad and says “Just gonna finish this set and then hit the sack. Night dad.”

John nods and Stiles thinks that he might say something else but he simply shakes his head before Stiles sees his dad retreat down the hall where Stiles can hear him heave out a sigh. Stiles takes another large gulp of his lukewarm coffee and rolls up the sleeves of his grey Henley before turning back to the Physics problems set.

Now that Stiles’ dad is onto Stiles’ pilfering of the zip ties he knows that he can’t use them again. When he had looked earlier this morning at the package that he stashed far back into the recesses of his closet he only had two ties left in the pack and Stiles knows that he needs to save those for the times when he will really need them.

Halfway through another set of physics problems Stiles lets out a jaw breaking yawn and feels what he has coyly nicknamed “the nightly shakes,” so he admits defeat and violently shuts his school books and migrates back into his makeshift closet bed with his comforter and computer.

The doctor had mentioned that it’d take Stiles’ body time to adjust to his regular Adderall levels again and that coupled with the pain in his muscles made it damn near impossible to get through his afternoon and nightly routines without having at least one shaking incident.

So, as Stiles queues up his Netflix stream he sits on his hands hoping that rendering his hands immobile will have a similar effect in calming his muscles as the zip ties, and before that the restraints had.

Stiles can feel the slight tremors of his hands under his butt but they aren’t nearly as debilitating as they had been in previous nights when he’d simply tried to will the shakes away. The slight tremors that Stiles feels at the moment aren’t nearly enough of a distraction to pull his attention away from the latest Parks and Recreation episode and again the undercurrent of buzzing is still there but it isn’t as bad as before.

He makes it through two episodes before he has to change positions and he settles for crossing his arms firmly around his chest and hiding his hands under his armpits. Stiles makes it through another two episodes before the tremors and the small enclosed space of being locked in his closet become too much and Stiles knows that he should go wake up his dad, knows that’s what his farther would want but instead he pauses Netflix, stopping a joke in midsentence, and pushes his Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie over his head and slinks on his shoes before slipping down the stairs and out the door.  
…………………………………………………………………

Stiles stares longingly at Roscoe, his powder blue jeep that he had begged his dad for when it was taken to an impound lot in town the summer before he got his license that he hasn’t touched once in the three weeks since he got home. Stiles can see a thin layer of dust starting to form over the jeep and knows that he should at least clean her soon but he pushes those thoughts off for another day, something he is increasingly getting good at, and sets off for the preserve at what he thinks is a brisk pace for him these days even though Stiles is fairly certain turtles and geriatric patients could probably walk faster than him.

Stiles pauses by the McCall’s house and he takes in the light streaming down from Scott’s and his mom’s room and he thinks that when times like this had happened before, because let’s face it this is Stiles a kid with an ADHD brain that never truly turned off before any of this supernatural bullshit happened, he’d crawl through Scott’s forever open window and mold himself along Scott’s profile. It’s how his dad would find him most nights after his mom died just like it’s how Ms. McCall would find a similar sight at the Stilinski household in the months after his prick of a father had left him for some alcoholic binge and bright shiny federal badge.

Scott and Stiles had developed an intense foundation from the first moment they’d laid eyes on one another, Stiles remembers as he wonders whether Scott can hear his faint heartbeat from down here. Scott and Stiles had wrapped each other around the other in some human like octopus formation that wormed into the deep crevices of the other like the other spaces were made to fit their body alone. It had baffled, and still baffles most adults at the silent language he and Scott had perfected over the years of being forgotten by others, left behind, and bullied and yet Stiles wonders if the chasm that separates him and Scott now is even surmountable enough to overcome. Most days just thinking about the rift between him and Scott made Stiles’ head hurt and Stiles is aware that that the chasm only gets bigger each day that Stiles doesn’t return one of Scott’s messages or ignores his knocks outside his bedroom window.

It’s just most days Stiles can’t be bothered to shower so what good could he possibly be to Scott right now, Stiles wonders as he scuffles his sneakers against the pavement.  
Stiles is used to being broken, had been broken since his mom took her last breath and smiled at him before dying, but he is also used to helping others around him heal. Stiles likes to ignore his own wounds in favor of helping heal the ones of those around him but Stiles can’t even fathom how to begin the healing process for anyone around him now.  
Not when he’s the one that caused the pain.

It’s just another thing that the Nogitsune took from him Stiles supposes before he reluctantly looks away and heads back on his way to the preserve.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Stiles knows that Derek finally let the county seize the old Hale land but it still hurts him on a visceral level to see the house be reduced to broken planks and a fenced in disaster he thinks as he hops the fence and finds a place to sit amongst the rubble.

Stiles is laying against the hull of what he thinks were probably wooden steps when he hears rustling to his left and he thinks that he sees the faint outline of cerulean eyes but when he looks back again they are gone and Stiles reasons that this is just another waking hallucination.

Stiles also bitterly thinks it is a cruel joke by his subconscious of who he wishes was here.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says as he sits up amongst the rubble and dusts off his sweatpants as he starts to see the beginnings of the sun creep up over the horizon as he slips through the security fence and once again makes his way home.

Stiles thinks that no one ever probably told Laura, Derek, Peter, or Cora they were sorry about what Kate did to them and he isn’t foolish enough to think one whispered sorry to ashy remains of a house long since gone would provide anything of value but it’s all Stiles has right now.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Stiles slips into the house quietly as he makes his way towards his bathroom where he turns the water up as high as he can stand it before he hops in and just stands under the spray before he picks up the soap and tries to scrub more of the imaginary scars away from his body.

Stiles knows it’s futile but he continues to scrub his skin raw until he hears his dad quietly slip into the steamy abyss. “How’d you sleep son?”

“Alright,” Stiles murmurs as he dollies out a generous amount of shampoo and lathers up his hair.

“I can make you some eggs,” John asks and Stiles can make out his dad’s figure leaning against the bathroom vanity with his arms crossed.

Stiles lets the “Already ate,” lie slip through his tongue easily before adding “Thought I’d just get started on some more of my makeup work,” as he tips his head back and runs his hands through his soapy hair.

Stiles can see his dad nod before he slips out and again Stiles knows that his dad is letting him skate on an obvious lie. He wonders how many lies are going to pile up this time before his dad pushes back.

Stiles is surprisingly content to wait he thinks as he turns off the spray and nabs a towel to begin drying himself.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………

The next few weeks pass in a haze of familiarity for Stiles—he sneaks out each night rotating his visits to include him mom’s grave and the old Hale pack abandoned train car and each night without fail he feels a familiar set of blue eyes trained on him but every time he looks back to confirm it the eyes are gone. Stiles absolutely tries not to think about how much his stomach falls each time he turns around only to see the blue eyes gone.

Then, each morning when Stiles returns home he slips back into the house and takes a scalding hot shower that never keeps him warm for more than a few minutes after he gets out but the fond smile his dad throws his way keeps his belly warm for a few extra hours. His dad’s smile always falters a bit though as the lies about eating slip through his mouth with practiced ease.

Every time Stiles lies about his eating habits he thinks this will be the time his dad calls him out on it but each day his dad accepts the corrosive lie with a tight smile and a tired sort of grunt that seems to negate whatever warmth Stiles gets from his father’s smile about his showering habits.

Stiles rotates doing his makeup work after his shower—Monday’s are for economics, Tuesday’s are Spanish, Wednesday’s are Algebra , Thursday’s are for English, and finally Friday’s are reserved for Physics. By the end of his fifth week home Stiles has almost made it through his makeup work which is when his dad confronts him at dinner.

“Your principal called. They say you could either withdraw from your classes, take summer courses, or finish out the year with online classes and start fresh next year,” John says and Stiles watches him stuff a forkful of lettuce into his mouth interspersed with chunks of grilled chicken.

Stiles pauses his water in midair before he sets it down and gives his dad a noncommittal shrug.

“Think about it okay? They want an answer by the end of the week.”

“Okay,” Stiles says meekly as he finishes his salad without even touching his grilled chicken.

“I’m gonna head upstairs. Is that okay?” Stiles asks as he rises from the table and when he sees his dad give a tired nod he puts his dishes in the dishwasher before retreating to his bedroom.

Stiles digs out his phone and plugs it into his wall charger waiting for it to charge up. Stiles bypasses the unread messages from the pack—4 from Lydia, 2 from Isaac and even 1 surprisingly from Derek—in favor of finding Scott’s name.

_To: Batman_  
 _From: Robin “Dad talked to the school today,”_ Stiles writes before hitting send and setting up his cocoon of blankets that even to his human nose smell rank while he waits for his Netflix to queue up the next Parks and Recreation episode.

_To: Stiles _  
 _From: Scott : “What’d they say?!?!_ ” and Stiles can feel Scott’s exuberance through the phone.

_To: Batman_  
 _From: Robin “Can withdraw, come back, or take online classes,”_ Stiles types out before ignoring his phone in favor of his laptop

_To: Stiles _  
 _From: Scott “We miss you man, what you gonna do?”_ Stiles reads the message three times after the episode ends and tries to breathe through the panic attack he feels building. Stiles was hoping that Scott would give him advice, or better yet make the decision for him.

_To: Batman_  
 _From: Robin “Probably online classes..”_ Stiles types out before sending the text and then tries to regulate his breathing to ward off the panic attack.

Stiles feels the phone vibrate three times next to him but he never reads the responses.  
………………………………………………………………………………………

His dad enrolls him in online classes the next day.  
……………………………………………………………………………………..

Stiles is pulling his hoodie over his head as he hears his dad putter about downstairs before he trudges to his room and Stiles thinks he has his nightly routine down to a science now.

His dad doesn’t check up on him and if Stiles is being honest he doesn’t remember his dad checking up on him or prodding him to shower or clean his room for the past few days. His dad hadn’t even nagged him about eating only salads and forgoing all meat in his diet.

If Stiles was a better son he knows that he would analyze what that means or better yet go talk to his dad but he’s learned control and avoidance from the best and thinks it’s better this way.

Better with his dad distancing himself from Stiles.

Stiles is hitting the bottom step when he hears a throat clear above him and for a few seconds Stiles entertains the idea of running away but before he can even reach for the door handle he hears his dad’s croaked “Son,” and Stiles swallows past the lump in his throat and slowly turns around to face the music.

  
This is it he thinks.

“Oh hey daddio,” Stiles says and tries to interject a false air of confidence and its almost reminiscent of who he was before Stiles thinks as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

  
Stiles watches his dad settle on the middle stair and Stiles notes at how aged, tired, and defeated he looks. Stiles hates even more that he was the cause of it.

  
“Little late for a midnight stroll don’t you think,” John says as he rests his head against his arm.

Dread pools in the pit of Stiles’ stomach and he wonders manically if this is going to be his dad forbidding him to go out and Stiles might be an asshole but he can’t really deny his father much these days. But he also thinks that he can’t stand sitting up in his room tonight; if he’s honest he’s unsure how he stands it most days because all it seems to be is a shrine to who he was before and it’s a cruel reminder of what he can’t have again.

Stiles only holes himself up there most days because he thinks his dad would worry, well worry more, if he avoided his room all together.

Stiles breaks out of his swirling thoughts when he hears his dad clear his throat again and Stiles thinks that it looks like the words are causing his dad literal pain as his dad strangles out “Be safe.”

Stiles had prepared himself for his dad saying just about anything else and so his brain short circuits and he splutters when his dad waves his hand letting him go and repeating “Be safe” again.

“Are you sure,” Stiles asks looking at the floor to avoid seeing the thin line of tears pooling in his dad’s eyes.

“I’m out of my depth here kid,” John laughs wetly. “Told your mom I’d keep you safe but you aren’t a kid anymore and this isn’t some bully I can fight for you. I can’t protect you from claws, or foxes, or fox demons. Just be safe,” John says as he stands and descends the last few steps to plant a quick kiss on his son’s forehead.

“Call me if you need me to pick you up,” John says before pushing Stiles towards the door further.

Stiles nods dumbly before he disappears out the door and into the night.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

John is sitting at the table the following evening with his hands hovering over the “call” button on his cellphone.

It’s been 24 hours since he had seen Stiles, since he had essentially given him his blessing to go gallivanting around Beacon Hills.

John thought giving Stiles his blessing would get his son to open up and he figured letting Stiles know that he knew—that he had known all along about the sneaking out would be a signal to Stiles that he didn’t need to sneak around anymore.

But now it’s been 24 hours and John hasn’t seen or heard from Stiles and when he’d called Parrish all Jordan could tell him was that Stiles’ cell was off.  
Finally John stabs the call button and he brings his cellphone up to his ear waiting for the other person to pick up.

“H..llo,” comes the muffled voice in John’s ear and John would feel bad for waking Derek if his fear that Stiles was out there somewhere maybe hurt of lying in a ditch somewhere didn’t outweigh all other emotions.

“Hale, it’s Stiles” John says cutting to the chase.

John hears a muted crash through the phone before Derek answers in a more alert, focused tone “Have you talked to Scott?”

“They aren’t talking. Stiles haven’t seen Scott since he came home but Scott’s on his way here,” John says brusquely.

“I’ll be there in 10,” Derek says and then before John could get in another word he was hearing a ringing dial tone.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Derek lets himself in and finds John and Scott huddled around the kitchen table.

“What do we know?” Derek asks crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Scott and John look through some of Stiles’ stuff—old maps, notes, and clothes both trying to get a read on where Stiles is.

“Stiles has been gone since last night. Apparently he’s been,” Scott starts to grit out before Derek interrupts him “Sneaking out I know. I’ve been following him,” Derek adds shrugging.

Derek watches a plethora of emotions filter across John’s face—anger, disappointment, and pain—before Derek hears him say, “I told him he could go, to be safe. He’s always come home before,” Derek watches John’s fingers wrap tightly around his coffee cup.

“He’s always been safe,” Derek says, thinking that it’s important to let him know that.

“We’ll find him Mr. Stilinski,” Scott says ignoring Derek’s previous interruption before he adds “You know how Stiles can get sometimes.”

Derek watches the Sheriff nod before he grunts “I’ll bring him home,” before he turns and heads for the door.

Derek has his hand on the handle of his Toyota before he feels Scott push him against the car and Derek can see his eyes begin to bleed red “You didn’t think it’d be important to tell me about Stiles?”

Derek can feel his claws begin to elongate and feels the cerulean bleed into his own eyes before he pushes Scott back and says, “Had it under control.”

“I’m his best friend and your alpha,” Scott says screaming as he pushes Derek further against his car.

“You aren’t my alpha,” Derek says snarling feeling his fangs “Go home Scott, I’ll find him.”

“No way man he’s my best friend. If anyone’s going to find him it’s me,” Scott growls.

“Smell the air Scott can you smell or feel him?” Derek asks finally pushing Scott off and putting some distance between them.

Derek watches Scott take a deep inhaling breath and feels him concentrate on the pack bonds before he takes in the deflating posture “Why can’t I feel him?” Scott whines.  
“Been masking his scent,” Derek says playing with his keys adding “I got this. Go home Scott.”

Scott deflates right before Derek’s face and he thinks that he looks about as defeated as he felt after Boyd and Erica left but he also knows that Scott is a better alpha than he could have ever hoped to be. “Fuck this man. This can’t be happening again, we just got him back and he goes and disappears,” Scott says and Derek can see Scott’s eyes bleed red again.

“He’s been safe Scott I’ve made sure of it. I know where he is, know what he’s feeling. Count yourself lucky you can’t relate to this,” Derek says pushing his keys into his car door.  
Derek sees Scott’s shoulders slump before he nods “I’ve been neglecting him, I thought he needed space but still I never checked up on him after he was released. What kind of Alpha am I?” Scott asks and Derek watches him pick up a nearby rock and throw it angrily.

“The kind of Alpha who never expected to be one,” Derek remarks as he claps Scott on the back.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Scott says before adding, “Tell him to stop shutting everyone out.”

Derek nods “He doesn’t mean to, not intentionally anyways,” Derek says as he gets into the Toyota and backs out of the Stilinski driveway. Derek watches Scott’s profile disappear into the night as he heads to kick some sense into Stiles.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Stiles pulls his jacket closer to his chest to ward off the chill seeping into the abandoned train car and is bemoaning his lack of foresight to change into sweatpants in favor of his thin sleep pants when he stills at the approaching footsteps he can hear.

Derek tries to make as much noise as he can walking along the abandoned corridor hallways and twists down the final wall towards the heart of the station’s underbelly when he sees Stiles’ hunched form come into view. Despite the loud footsteps announcing his presence he didn’t succeed in keeping the flinch away from Stiles’ features as he slides down the wall next to Stiles and passes him one of his coffee thermoses shrugging at Stiles upturned eyebrows.

“Figured you had good reason to not want to sleep and coffee can help you outrun what you clearly aren’t ready to face,” Derek says as he slides the thermos more firmly into Stiles’ grip. Stiles for his part plays with the circular lid trying to decode whatever peace offering this is but with each passing moment he can feel the vestiges of sleep creep closer and with sleep comes the mismatched images of stabbing Scott, knocking out Kira, wreaking havoc on the hospital and killing the deputies. He can feel the cloy of an impending panic attack as he takes a sip of the offered coffee.

“How’d you know where to find me,” Stiles asks after a few minutes of silence because he thinks he’d done a good job of covering up his scent and switching hiding places every night but he should have counted on a born werewolf being able to see through that.

Derek shrugs and risks a sideways glance at Stiles and he tries not to take in how sunken in his eyes are, how frail he is even after seeing that damned nutritionist, and how hunched over Stiles carries himself these days; almost as though even standing up to his full height is too painful, too much to ask. “I’ve been following you ever since you got out of the hospital. I memorized your hiding spots and rotations so finding you tonight when your dad called was hardly hard.”

“So still incompetent at even disappearing,” Stiles replies and any other time Derek would dismiss it as his usual self-deprecation but not now, too much has happened.  
“The scent masking agent that you pilfered from Deaton’s is good it threw off Scott but I’ll always be able to find you,” Derek murmurs lowly.

Stiles simply nods and knocks back another portion of the coffee and tries not to get hung up on the “I’ll always be able to fund you line,” because it is probably just Derek being self-sacrificing and him trying to tiptoe around Stiles because that seems to be the default way of dealing with him these days. It is part of the reason he made himself so scare around his dad and the others because on top of not being able to meet their eyes without warlike flashbacks flashing to the forefront of his eyes in doing so he also hated the look of pity in their eyes.

“Scott says that you’ve been avoiding him and Lydia,” Derek mutters while taking off his leather jacket and draping it over Stiles shoulders as his body continues its full body shakes with a glare that silences any protests he knows Stiles was going to utter.

Stiles merely burrows into the increased warmth and tries not to enjoy how it smells like pine, the woods, and a mix of intermingling scents that was purely Derek and for the first time in weeks he feels himself settle.

“They don’t blame you,” Derek says trying again to draw Stiles out.

“I’m sure Laura didn’t blame you either but I’m sure you were a real ray of werewolf sunshine post fire. I’m sure you didn’t avoid her at all,” Stiles replies knowing the minute the speech echoes back to him that it was a mistake and looking at Derek he expects to see anger, rage, or even the back of his body leaving in a huff of annoyance but Derek just looks resigned.

And wasn’t that the worst thing in the world.

“I’m..” Stiles starts to say before Derek cuts him off.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat Derek waves off whatever apologies Stiles may have had “No, you’re right,” he manages to say.

“Truth was I avoided Laura for three weeks. I made her deal with everything—the funerals, the wills, the police stuff. I did what you did I rotated places every night—the bakery my mom liked, the hospital where Peter was, and a brush clearing in the preserve we used to meet in on full moons,” Derek says taking another sip of his coffee.

“Laura found me in the clearing the night before we were set to leave she told me that we were leaving and she’d drag my wolfy ass all the way to New York whether I liked it or not. She told me she knew about Kate, that she could smell her on me no matter what I did to mask the scent and even though I didn’t believe her she said it wasn’t my fault.”  
“She sounds like a good big sister,” Stiles replies smirking as he shifts close enough to feel the heat radiate from Derek.

“You would have liked her. She was a pain in my ass like you are and she never met a conversation she couldn’t turn around on the other person,” Derek adds smirking. “You two would have been best friends and would have tried to out joke and outduel the other. Beacon Hills wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

It feels right telling Stiles this because he knows that no matter how many times Scott and Lydia tell Stiles that they don’t blame him, that it was someone pretending to be him he knew that guilt doesn’t just magically disappear. He is really the only one who knows what Stiles is feeling and if that left a bitter tang in his mouth—at the fact that Stiles who had already grown up too fast when his mom died, when Scott was turned, was yet again forced to grow up too fast and bear more scars—well no one needs to know that but him.

“In my head I know it wasn’t me. I know that I didn’t try and kill Scott, throw you against a wall, or kill all those deputies at the station but I remember feeling everything. I remember liking the control,” Stiles replies drifting off at the end but knowing that werewolf strength ears would hear. “What kind of sick fuck likes that huh?” Stiles says drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them.

Sometimes Derek has to remind himself that Stiles isn’t some dumb, naïve kid but seeing him with his head rested on his knees looking forever the 12 year old kid that watched his mom die did nothing to help paint the picture that Derek had seen pre-Nogitsune.

Before all of this Derek reminds himself that Stiles was someone who would regularly place himself in front of the werewolves like he was the one with super strength, Stiles was someone that had spent all summer looking for Erica and Boyd, was someone that traded water for 2 hours to keep Derek safe.

In short, before this Stiles was a man even if he never looked the part he was, and he’d get back to that no matter how much time and shoving from Derek it took.

“You aren’t a sick fuck Stiles, you’re just someone that never had control in his life from watching your mom dying and then when Scott was turned you were thrust into this world where you don’t have any control over anyone. It’s not surprising that you liked the control you felt when the Nogitsune took over; it makes you human to want control,” Derek says shrugging.

“Is it weird that I don’t want control over anything anymore?” Stiles asks as he tentatively lays his head on Derek’s shoulder and is surprised at the lack of reproach.

Derek shakes his head “Now you feel tainted from having the control and you’re worried that if you make any decision again that it’ll turn out just as horribly” Derek shifts further down the wall and puts Stiles’ head in his lap.

“What happened to my old Sourwolf that spoke in 72 different eyebrow formations and you needed a shrug and grunt decoder to decode what you were saying?” Stiles says laughing and even though the sound feels foreign to his ears it feels like a small step in the right direction.

Derek grunts and lets his eyebrows raise to his hairline “Happy now?”

“All is right in the world your grunt was low and short meaning that you are content and that eyebrow formation signals that you are quite ready for a change in conversation,” Stiles says yelping as Derek rights him and starts dragging him towards the exit.  
\  
“I told your dad I’d bring you home,” Derek remarks as he deposits Stiles in the front seat of his Toyota and Stiles surmises that he does look genuinely sorry, Derek looks as though he’d be more comfortable doing anything but bringing Stiles back home.

Stiles shrugs his shoulder and mumbles “ ‘s okay.”

Derek fiddles with the heat in the Toyota as he eases his way through the sleepy streets of Beacon Hills all the while watching Stiles grow more and more silent as they near the Stilinski house. He hedges his bets that Stiles is nervous about how his dad will react when the pair gets home. “He isn’t mad,” Derek floats out there as they continue down the town’s main street.

Stiles continues biting at his nails, “It would be easier if he was,” Stiles says as he lets his head lean against the cool window and watches the streets start to bleed together and lights become blinding saucers guiding them home.

Stiles tries not to think about what awaits him at home and ignores the knowing pit in his stomach.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

True to Derek’s word though Stiles’ dad isn’t mad when Stiles lets Derek shepherd him into the Stilinski family living room.

“Derek why don’t you settle Stiles on the couch, I’ll make hot chocolate,” Stiles hears his dad say as Stiles watches his dad pass by him giving his shoulder a faint, reassuring squeeze.

Stiles hears his had puttering around the kitchen and the whispering of the kettle for the hot chocolate as he sinks into the beaten, soft, and welcoming leather couch.

“You don’t have to stay,” Stiles says fiddling with the frayed edges of the afghan his mom had knitted before she’d gotten sick. Stiles remembers falling asleep under the afghan during family movie nights and cuddling it to his chest those nights when he couldn’t sleep.

While the afghan holds countless family memories both he and his dad have come to use it only sparingly in recent years because of how worn the spread is. Both Stiles and his father learned to parse out using the afghan only for when they really needed it like around the anniversary of her death, when either one was sick, or more recently when Stiles felt like he needed a grounding force.

“Got nowhere else to be,” Derek answers and Stiles feels Derek place his hand on his jittering leg.

“Systems getting used to Adderall again,” Stiles goes by way of explaining the jitteriness as the tips of his ears burn red.

Stiles hears Derek grunt again but he makes no movement to move his hand and he even uses his other hand to grab the cup of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows when John comes back into the room.

“Drink up kid,” John says passing Stiles his mug.

“Marshmallows are a nice touch,” Stiles says smirking as he watches his dad take a sip of his cup.

“Stilinski late night infomercial nights aren’t complete without your mom’s hot chocolate,” John replies and Stiles sees his dad grab the remote and turn the tv on to QVC.

Stiles lets out a strangled sound which was a mixture of a whimper and hurt dog as he remembers the nights after his mom’s death where he’d find his dad passed out on the couch and he’d snuggle under the afghan near his dad and watch cheesy infomercials using the sound to try and distract himself from the utter loneliness and silence of the house. During those nights spent huddled together Stiles would try and not smell the whisky on his dad’s breath and his dad would try and not remember how much Stiles looked like his mom while the two tried to forget that it was just the two of them.

“You should have told me you were still having trouble sleeping because believe it or not I don’t enjoy seeing a nest of blankets in my teenaged son’s closet like he’s Harry Potter or something,” John says and Stiles rips his eyes away from the sales person trying to sell him a Panini presser and looks into his dad’s eyes.

“I’d make a pretty good Harry Potter though, complete with the whole tragic backstory. I could kick Voldemort’s ass,” Stiles replies as he gulps down the rest of his hot chocolate.  
“You have enough to deal with without me waking you up every night,” Stiles adds shrugging his shoulders.

He just can’t get anything right anymore.

“You’d burn Hogwarts down kid,” John says laughing and smiling as he sees a small upturn in Stiles’ lips. “I know what you’re doing kid. You’re finding ways to punish yourself and I’m smart enough to realize that you won’t believe anyone when we say that you have nothing to punish yourself for but no more sneaking out. Deal?’

“Deal,” Stiles says as he grabs his dad’s mug of hot chocolate and takes a sip “no more sugar for a month dad,” he says smirking as he settles the afghan over himself, his dad, and Derek.

Stiles feels his dad pull him closer and feels the soft press of his dad’s lips to the tufts of hair around his ears and Stiles feels his body become heavy and slack with sleep, the same sleep he’d been denying his body for weeks.

Stiles feels himself doze off against the weight of his dad’s chest and can still feel the anchoring weight of Derek’s hand against his knee and thinks it’s safe to give into the needed sleep knowing that Derek and his dad were there to chase away any nightmares.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………

“How’d you know where to find him tonight? Scott says he couldn’t scent Stiles,” John mutters barely suppressing his shiver at how frantic Scott’s call had made him. So soon after getting Stiles back he didn’t think he could handle losing him again.

Derek places his mug on the coffee table and John watches him wipe the remnants of the drink off with the back of his hands. “He’s been masking his scent, it’s enough to fool a bitten werewolf but I’ll always be able to find Stiles. Plus I’ve been following him when he goes out at night.”

John raises his eyebrows at Derek’s admission and not for the first time since Stiles clued him into the werewolf club John wonders if Derek was a little younger, Stiles a little older and if both weren’t so broken whether there could be something between his son and Derek.

Hell, if Derek is going to watch over Stiles and bring him back to John safe and sound maybe there can be something in the future still.

“Why have you been following him?” John asks as he rakes his hands through Stiles’ unruly hair.

John sees Derek shrug “Not much else to do,” Derek says before adding “I’ve been shifting since I was a toddler that’s why I can smell past the scent sealer.”

John snorts because he doesn’t think for a second that the born vs bitten werewolf idea plays as much a role in this so much as Derek’s obvious attraction to Stiles, but he keeps that to himself opting instead to say “No matter how you found him, thank you,” as he pulls Stiles closer to him.

“Least I could do,” Derek says grunting and John watches him avert his eyes to the infomercial girl trying to sell the latest batch of Snuggies.

“That’s bullshit; you didn’t have to look for Stiles when he was missing or reason Argent out of killing Stiles,” John says not beating around the bush.

John observes Derek shift uncomfortably under his gaze and he wonders whether this is a beta thing making him whither under his gaze or if it’s a Stiles thing. “It’s my uncle who turned Scott which got Stiles involved in the supernatural in the first place. You should be running for your wolfsbane bullets not thanking me sir,” Derek replies.

“Stiles told me that in the beginning he was in Scott’s pack, that it was just him and Alison so I fail to see where you come in or how your deranged uncle’s antics were your fault? You and Stiles carry unnecessary guilt around son,” John says as he puts his feet up on the coffee table and pulls Stiles’ nearer.

“I still looked out for him, he still saved me and I still owe him,” Derek grits out and John observes him dislodging his hand from Stiles’ knee.

“Stiles is never much interested in people being in his debt, it’s actually a surprise really when you think about how antagonistic he can be. Stiles never had many friends growing up—he talked a mile a minute, wasn’t good at sports, and his mom was sick,” John swallows down the lump in his throat at the mere mention of Claudia all these years later “but once he lets you in, you’re in. He talked about the pack like it was his family, it was nice,” John adds.

“And if I don’t want to be in his circle or his pack?” Derek bites out.

“Well then you’re shit out of luck there lone wolf cause once Stiles digs in there isn’t anything you can do about that,” John replies smirking at Derek’s eye roll.

“When I had my own pack I tried to keep Stiles away but he was like a bad penny who just kept coming back,” Derek murmurs thinking about how a lousy human, someone who couldn’t feel pack bonds in the same way werewolves can, kept coming back when he’d successfully driven away all the others. The one Derek really wanted to drive away had just kept coming back and Derek thought maybe after that he’d understood more about why his mom always professed that human pack members were far more loyal than wolves.

John snorts “He gets his stubbornness from Claudia. Once they dig in nothing short of a mule can make them change their minds you can probably see why I lost most fights when Stiles was growing up. That and his ability to walk around me in circles.”

“He’s loyal and surprisingly competent for someone who flails at his own shadow,” Derek adds.

John makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat before clearing it and asking “Did he say anything when you found him?”

Derek could sense Stiles getting more and more agitated in his sleep, almost like he knew they were talking about him, and he latches his hands onto Stiles shoulder this time and breathes through the onslaught of pain that flows through his blackened veins but it seems to settle Stiles down. “He feels like a burden,” Derek says.

“He won’t let Scott, Lydia, or Kira come over; he’s tried going to Melissa’s for dinner but I got a call 10 minutes later from Melissa. He had a panic attack,” John says simply trying to forget how awful that first excursion outside had been and how it had made Stiles weary of everything all over again.

Derek’s unsure whether Stiles would approve of him telling his dad anything about what they’d talked about but Derek reasons that nothing has been working so far and if by breaking his silence Stiles can get the help he really needs, so he won’t become like him, then Derek thinks that’s worth it. “Stiles feels guilty and like he doesn’t deserve the pack.”  
“You’re a little familiar with that aren’t you son,” John asks.

“It’s not the same. I always knew people could use my werewolf powers for their own gain,” Derek says and John sees him balling his hands into fists.

“My son and you share a lot more in common that I would have ever wanted but your family dying wasn’t your fault,” John replies vehemently and he grabs ahold of Derek’s face making him look him in the eyes to see the sincerity of his words. “You and Stiles ingrained in your heads early on that things that were out of your control were your faults. It’s on me for not dissuading Stiles that his mom’s death wasn’t his fault; I was too busy working my way through whiskey bottle after whiskey bottle and even though I want to be there for him now he’s still slipping through my fingers.”

“Melissa’s worried that he’s isolating himself and I know he just got home but he isn’t getting any better,” John says angry that he is still failing his son. “His nutritionist called and told me that he’s lost more weight and he’s still so lost in his head.”

John feels Stiles wrap himself further around him as though he thinks that his sleeping self can dissuade John of his negative thoughts; it was such a Stiles thing to do but it feels tainted in some way John thinks.

“There isn’t some magic switch that erases everything sir,” Derek grits out.

“Everyone wants the old Stiles back and it just doesn’t work that way,” Derek adds bitterly.

“Melissa thinks that maybe being in an inpatient facility will help, maybe it’d get him on track,” John says as he rubs circles in the center of Stiles’ back trying to soothe away some of the tension he feels there.

Derek bristles at the suggestion John notes, almost like he’s offended on Stiles’ behalf, “He’d hate you if you did that, it would drive him further away.”

“Melissa says he slept every night with restraints on and he told Scott they made him feel safe, an inpatient facility could provide that,” John mutters testily.

“It would only make him more reliant on that stuff, he’d use it as a crutch,” Derek says. “Stiles felt some control when possessed and how he’s associating control and making decisions with what the Nogitsune did. He’s scared of control now but you need to let him see that asking for things and making choices isn’t a bad thing not let him use stuff as crutches.”

John lets out a steely breath, “Well I’m fresh out of options so if you have any I’m open to hearing them.”

Derek didn’t know what he was expecting but John asking him for ideas wasn’t even remotely in the stratosphere of what he expected. Derek can’t remember a time in recent history where someone asked his opinion on something, his mind goes back to how Scott had left him out of all his Argent plans, and Derek doesn’t know what to make of the contented pool in his stomach at the feeling of being wanted.

He is also aware that John will probably expect his help in implementing his plan and if a year ago anyone told him that spending time with Stiles would give him less of a prickly sensation and more of a warm fondness he would have had them committed to Eichen House. Derek wonders when he stopped seeing Stiles as some spastic liability that needed to be protected and more so as a competent pack mate that needed to be listened to.

“He needs a schedule, something to keep him honest in the beginning,” Derek says before adding “But the schedule needs to be flexible, include choices,”

“When Laura took us to New York she made me enroll in a community college because she thought getting out into the world again was like ripping a band aid off and that it was better to push yourself out there than do it in increments,” Derek says. “She said it would give me less time to think about everything, Stiles needs that. Needs to not have time to overthink things, he lives too much in his head,” Derek says and John watches Derek pull the leather jacket around Stiles’ prone form even further.

“You think that’ll really work?” John asks skeptically because he knows how much of a pain it was to get Stiles to stick to schedules growing up. He was never fond of schedules growing up.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Derek murmurs and John silently agrees as he watches Derek pick up the used dishes and observes him reach for his work boots and almost on auto pilot John reaches out to Derek, careful not to jostle Stiles, and says “you can stay son.

John watches Derek settle on the other side of Stiles and steal a snippet of the blanket and John lets the dulcet tones of the newest QVC ad lull him to sleep thinking not for the first time since Stiles woke up that real progress might have been made. But John thinks maybe this progress will be firmer, longer lasting.

Again, John lets the voices of former battle commanders run through his mind saying small victories win wars and John thinks as he drifts off to sleep that maybe Derek handed him the blueprints he’d been missing to achieve sustained momentum.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Derek awakens the next morning to the feel of the Stilinski family afghan covering his prone form and a cucumber smelling pillow beneath his head.

He lets the chatter and the smell of pancake batter, bacon, and fresh coffee waft over him as he lets his limbs shift from sleep heavy to alert, ready.

Derek sniffs the air and notes that while Stiles’ scent is still muddled in heavy medication smells and a thin layer of despair a new thin layer of jasmine smelling hope has been added to the mix.

“Derek tell my dad that he can’t have bacon,” Stiles yells from near the stove where Derek can see him flipping, wait for it, werewolf pancakes that Derek does not absolutely find hilarious

John grumbles from his spot near the table where Derek can see him looking down at his fruit cup and cottage cheese with open disgust.

“I own a gun Stiles if I want bacon I’ll have a slice of damn bacon,” John says and Derek notes the upward curve of John’s lips which turns into an all-out smirk when Stiles glares at him. Derek lets the sheer normalcy and domesticity of the scene, a scene that could have easily been plucked out of his childhood, wash over him.

“I don’t think one slice of bacon is going to make a difference,” Derek chimes in as he fixes himself a cup of coffee and sits down in the kitchen.

“You’re supposed to be on my side Florence Nighten-wolf,” Stiles grumbles, waving a spatula in his general direction.

“I’ll take a rain check on that bacon son,” John says looking down at his pager. “Parrish needs me at the office, you be good for Derek,” John adds as Derek watches him pull on his Sherriff’s jacket.

“I don’t need a babysitter dad,” Stiles mutters as he looks back at the stove violently flipping a pancake.

“Never said you did son,” John says trailing off and looking at Derek “It’s just Derek came up with some ideas..”

“What to fix the poor broken human? What I don’t even get a say in it, it’s my shitty life after all,” Stiles interjects and Derek takes in the hunched shoulders and for a minute all Derek sees is a hurt animal trying to make itself small, to protect itself.

Derek watches John swallow down most of his anger as his face expresses a gauntlet of emotions but he still manages to terse out “Well if Derek hadn’t been so dead set against this I’d have committed you to an inpatient treatment facility,” and Derek knows the moment the words reverberate around the kitchen that it was the wrong thing to say and the stricken look on John’s face lets him he knows it too.

If Stiles’ white knuckled grip on the frying pan was any indication or if the short ragged breaths Derek could see Stiles fight to take in weren’t a clue then Stiles’ full on shaking pointed to him being in the throes of a panic attack.

“Stiles,” Derek hears John begin to say but John stops all pretense of conversation when he sees Stiles visibly flinch away from the Sherriff’s outstretched hands.  
“Just go dad Derek and I will be fine.”

Derek imperceptibly nods in the Sherriff’s direction and out of the corner of his eye Derek can see John grab his travel mug of coffee as he heads towards his cruiser.  
Even if he didn’t have his werewolf enhanced senses Derek is pretty sure even a human can smell the acrid scent of disappointment and smarting twang of ang¬¬er rolling of Stiles in droves.

One step forward, infinite steps backwards Derek thinks as he hears the Sherriff back out of the driveway.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

After Stiles’ dad leaves Derek watches Stiles finish making the werewolf pancakes and dish them up to him before Derek watches him make a quick retreat to the Stilinski backyard where Derek tries to tune out the short, shuddering breaths coming from Stiles.

The wolf in him whines to break free to go comfort in the most innate way he knows how but instead he eats the decorated werewolf pancakes that tastes more ashy than tasty to Derek’s palette and he thinks it doesn’t’ have anything to do with the quality of food.

Derek wraps up the remains from breakfast and puts the dishes in the washer before he allows his trained ear to find Stiles in a secluded portion of the Stilinski backyard that looks like it had housed a rose garden at some point if the raised bed was anything to go by.

Derek observes Stiles trying to stealthily wipe away the tear tracks running down his Derek can still see but Derek just lets it go.

“Maybe everyone would be better off if my dad checked me back into Eichen House. I made quite the impression there you know, I’m sure Brunski would welcome me back with open arms,” Stiles says sardonically a little while later.

Again the wolf in Derek battles to the forefront and whines at how defeated Stiles looks and hackles with anger at the implication of Stiles being locked away from them.  
“You don’t really believe that,” Derek grunts. “They’d just drug you up so much you’d be numb to everything, that’s no way to live.”

“Yea cause my life right now is all roses and cherries,” Stiles bites out. “Maybe that’s what I want, to forget and be numb.”

Derek shakes his head “Allison and Aiden didn’t die for you to just give up now. We didn’t risk our lives for you to check out now Stiles.”

“I can’t look at Scott or Lydia without thinking about how I killed Allison and Aiden. I hated Aiden and the murdering twins but Lydia loved him and now he’s gone because of me, cause of my weakness,” Stiles says and Derek watches him balling his hands into fists.

“It was the Nogitsune Stiles, just someone that looked like you. You’re an asshole but you would never do those things without the fox demon.”

“How can you be so sure?” Stiles replies bitterly. “Why can’t I close my eyes without seeing the Oni and all the destruction huh?”

Derek ignores the first part of Stiles’ rant because there’s no way to innately prove that Stiles would have never done those things but Derek’s wolf knows he wouldn’t have ever been able to do it.

“Because your Stiles and you value research and certainly you can’t just will something to be true but that doesn’t mean that it’s not true to those that matter,” Derek says focusing on the second portion of Stiles question.

“Year ago you would have moved heaven and earth to get rid of me, what changed wolfman?”

“You’re the only one to keep Peter at bay,” Derek says laughing as he pulls Stiles up and towards the house.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

When John walks through the door in the evening he releases a breath he’d been holding all day when he sees Stiles sitting at the table pushing his salad around with his fork.  
John watches Derek pass by Stiles and notices that he allows his hand to linger a little on his shoulder before he watches Derek squeeze by him through the door.  
John uncovers the tofu lasagna waiting for him in the oven and picks up the piece of paper lying in the middle of the table and he looks between the paper reciting Stiles’ daily schedule and Stiles who was resolutely looking anywhere but at him.

_Stiles’ Schedule_   
_8—wakeup_   
_9—breakfast_   
_10-12—school work_   
_12—lunch_   
_1-3—activities_   
_5—dinner_   
_6-8—activities_   
_9—lights out_

“Son,” John starts but he finds he can’t find any words.

John watches Stiles push a forks worth of lettuce into his mouth and swallow before he hears Stiles say, “I keep making this hard for everyone. I know no one blames me for anything but I do. But Derek’s right you didn’t risk your life for me to watch me fall down at the finish line.”

John nods as he swallows around the first bite of lasagna “He’s right no one blames you son but you get too caught up in your head like your mom sometimes.”

“I’m willing to try this schedule, Derek thinks it’ll help stabilize my moods,” Stiles says before adding sadly “I want to get better.”

“Derek also mentioned that he knows the name of a therapist I could talk to,” Stiles adds and John watches his son’s shoulders hunch inwards  
.  
“Never been a big believer in the head shrinking game but I think Derek might be onto something. I’m sorry I haven’t been more help, I promised you mom I’d take care of you and all your life it’s been the other way around,” John says thickly washing away the acidic taste of disappointment with water.

Stiles shrugs “I’ve never made it easy and it’s not like there’s a handbook on how to deal with your recently de-possessed child, I checked,” Stiles mutters and John catches the faint outlines of a smirk.

“Still could have been there more,” John says as he claps Stiles on the back on his way to the dishwasher.

“How do you feel about Law and Order re-runs or do you want to watch a movie?” John asks as he takes Stiles’ dish and loads it in with his dishes.  
“Lord of the Rings?” Stiles asks and John sees him biting his nails almost looking as though he is waiting for some sort of big bad to come out of the woodwork and condemn him right there for simply making a decision.

“I’ll make the popcorn, you go set up,” John replies as he observes Stiles walk with trepidation towards the DVD player before snags a pillow from the living room chair.

Another infinitesimal step forward John thinks as he grabs the popcorn bag out of the microwave and settles into the sofa.  
…………………………………………………………………………………….

Stiles sees Derek walk through the door as the credits of Lord of the Rings are rolling and his dad is putting water in the popcorn bowls.

“Planning to move your wolfy ass in?” Stiles asks stretching his sore muscles.

Derek shrugs as he watches Stiles smile at his dad weakly before heading up the stairs.

Stiles feels Derek’s presence at his back as he makes his way up to his room, a room he’s still uncomfortable with but he thinks maybe Derek being in it won’t make it seem so menacing. His mind and skin still feel too tight, buzzing with an undercurrent of energy after today’s events and he still thinks that even with Derek here sleep with be futile.

“Don’t change your habits on my account,” Derek says and Stiles watches him pick up a book off his shelf before plopping down on his computer chair.

Stiles finally mutters fuck it underneath his breath as he grabs his blankets and makes his way back over to his makeshift closet bed. Fuck Derek and his dad really for not letting him out of the house at night anymore so Stiles thinks they don’t have any right to complain about his weird sleeping arrangements.

Settling into the back of the closet Stiles pushes through a mess of dirty laundry and finds the last remaining zip tie he has left and figures that after the cluster of his day, and him being under constant watch now that he might as well use the last of his stash now.

Stiles is fastening the plastic cords when he sees Derek slip into his closet and Stiles drops the ties from his mouth and watches as a mixture of emotions cross Derek’s face from confusion to interest, and finally resting on constipated understanding.

“You aren’t going to tell my dad?” Stiles asks finally fastening the tie into place.

Stiles sees Derek shake his head as he crawls into the small space behind Stiles and once he settles Stiles feels Derek pull him closer to his chest.

“You know what you doing,” Derek says simply and Stiles feels the faint puff of breath coming from Derek’s parted lips near the shell of his ear and he finds it oddly endearing and reassuring.

“Sleep, big day tomorrow,”

Stiles notes that the buzz is still there, slightly beneath his skin but he lets Derek’s narration of the 1001 Arabian nights wash over him along with the protective weight of Derek’s hand thrown over his shoulder lull him to sleep.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“What do you want for breakfast,” Stiles hears Derek ask the next morning after he enters the kitchen fresh out of his shower.

Stiles shrugs which earns him a glare from Derek.

“We talked about this Stiles,” Derek says.

Stiles rolls his eyes “Well I’m sorry learned behavior takes time to unlearn itself,” Stiles mutters before biting his lips and saying “eggs I guess,” as he plops down at the kitchen table and accepts the coffee cup from Derek.

Stiles watches Derek make the eggs and digs his fingers into his palms while trying to breathe through the panic that’s welling up inside of him.

“This sucks,” Stiles announces to no one in particular as he takes a long swig of his coffee and he watches Derek shrug from where he is cracking eggs into a frying pan.  
“Like you said shit takes time,” Derek says.

“How come bad shit happens in an instant and it takes forever to get to the good stuff?” Stiles asks as he takes his plate of eggs and toast.

Stiles watches Derek take a bite out of his toast before he hears the werewolf say, “You just notice the bad stuff quicker.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but he stuffs a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth and wills his stomach to not rebel against the food and he hopes that not every decision from here on out is going to give him a panic attack.  
…………………………………………………………………………

It’s a week after Stiles has shown his dad the schedule and again no magic switch was pulled that made getting up in the morning any easier, or making decisions any less traumatic sometimes, and it’s still slow going when Derek ambushes him in the middle of a Physics problem to ask him “Do you want to go to the grocery store or head by lacrosse practice later?’

Stiles breaks his pencil in half and grits out, “Neither,” as he fishes out another pencil.

“Those are your choices for your activities,” Derek pushes back.

“We never agreed that my activities had to be outside activities,” Stiles counters as he dives back into his Physics worksheets.

Stiles hears Derek snort “It was implied and you know it.”

Stiles taps his pencil against the side of his Physics book trying to regulate his breathing to match that of the taps, “Please don’t make me do this,” not above pleading to get out of this.

“You dad and I have eased you into this as much as we can but the more you wait the worse you’re going to psych yourself out,” Derek says and Stiles watches him lean his hip on his desk.

Stiles grinds his teeth together, “Come on ass it’s been a long week.”

To Derek’s credit he doesn’t forcibly drag Stiles out of the room right then and there or try and use his werewolf voice on him, he simply huffs out a breath before he looks at Stiles “This is just another step.”

“Fine, the grocery store” Stiles grits out before he turns back to his Physics work and tries to ignore the feel of Derek’s eyes on him until he comes over and shuts the book at 1 telling him in a low voice “Time to go.”  
………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Stiles feels dread pool in the pit of his stomach as Derek navigates the Jeep closer to the town’s central supermarket.

“It’s going to be fine,” he hears Derek say beside him.

Stiles unclenches his fisted hands and forces them to remain open as he presses them down into his knees trying to ground his body in the present, “Easy for you to say.”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you pretty sure that’d be like signing my death warrant,” Derek says as he parks the Jeep on the far side of the parking lot.

Stiles tries to work on the breathing exercises he’s been working on with his therapist as he feels Derek press his hand into his palm and Stiles lets Derek lead him away from his powder blue jeep and in the direction of the supermarket.

“Here’s the list of things your dad said he needs,” and Stiles feels Derek push the list of items into his hands as Derek grabs a cart and heads to the produce section.

Stiles used to love going to the grocery store, well he loved it as much as any reasonable teenager enjoyed such things like that. But Stiles remembers growing up how every Saturday he’d come with his mom to pick out fresh blueberries and strawberries for their big Sunday brunches and remembers her mom quibbling with the meat guy over lean meat amounts and how excited he was to visit the bakery on the way out for his free cookie.

Even after his mom died Stiles still loved coming to the grocery store and even though he’d never touch the strawberries, blueberries, or sugar cookies again Stiles took pride in finding the freshest produce and the leanest meats for his dad. After his mom died and Stiles had ascended to sole food provider of meals that weren’t takeaway or frozen meals Stiles set aside an hour every Sunday to go grocery shopping buying the meats, produce, and pastries that he’d use to make his dad’s lunches and their dinners for the week.

So, now as Stiles tries to stave off a panic attack as he decides between two sets of oranges he tries to remember the good times he’d had in the grocery store—the sugar cookies from Mr. Knowles, the pitch of his mom’s laugh when she found a good deal.

“You’re doing fine,” Stiles hears Derek say as he feels Derek press lightly down on his shoulder.

“I’m having a panic attack in the vegetables section,” Stiles mutters sardonically before he grabs two oranges and plops them in the basket.

Stiles feels Derek reach around him and break two bananas off a stalk near the oranges before he hears Derek reply “But you’re still here aren’t you, haven’t run out of the store yet.”

Smirking, “Geez the burden of doing well has been set pretty low I guess,” as he looks down at the list and heads to the cereal aisle to absolutely not pick up the Apple Jacks his dad had put on the list.

Stiles grabs two boxes of Special K Berries instead and puts them beside the oranges and broccoli he had put in his cart previously before looking down at the list and seeing what else he needs to pick up.

Slowly, one by one most of the list of groceries was crossed off the list—he’d have to have a talk with his dad about how Apple Jacks, Birthday Cake ice cream, and beeferoni had made it onto the list in his absence—but at the end when he and Derek are checking out Stiles feels ridiculously happy that he’s made it through the trip with staving off only 3 panic attacks.

“Told you,” Derek mutters as Stiles watches him negotiate the turn out of the supermarket.

“No one likes a show off wolf,” Stiles mumbles as he takes a bite out of the oatmeal raisin cookie he’d had Derek steal from the bakery section.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Where’s the Apple Jacks?” Stiles hears his dad ask later that night and he takes great joy at throwing a wiffleball at his dad’s head and mutters “No Apple Jacks on this guys watch.”

“Need I remind you I am the parent,” John mutters coming in and sitting on the couch and scrunching up his nose at the orange.

“I cook, my rules,” Stiles retorts and he lets his dad ruffle his hair and wrap him up in a one armed hug.

He sleeps surprisingly well that night.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

As Stiles gets into his powder blue jeep he takes a calming, measured breath. It’s been a few weeks since Stiles first left the house and with each venture out he feels the coils of tension and panic at the thought of leaving the house recede. With each joint trip to the grocery store, the local café for morning brunch, and on one memorable occasion the movie theater Stiles feels Beacon Hills become more alive for him.

But every one of those excursions had been planned and Stiles knows his therapist thinks that’s progress but Stiles still fears making spontaneous decisions; he’s gotten better at making choices offered to him but he still can’t make spontaneous decisions and he knows that’s the next step he has to make.

So when Stiles woke up this morning and missed Derek he grabbed his keys without even thinking before he could let his brain talk himself out of this.

Stiles taps his fingers absentmindedly in time with a beat of some radio song before he puts his car into reverse and sets out for downtown.

He haphazardly throws his car into park before he jumps out of Roscoe not allowing himself time to second guess his decision before he slips into the apartment complex.  
Stiles bangs on the loft’s door knowing its futile anyways because Derek will have heard him coming and can probably smell him from across the door.

He’s biting down on one of his nails when he sees the loft door open and he wastes no time in shimming past Derek and kneeling in the center of the room.

Stiles can hear Derek’s deep measured breath from somewhere to his left but he doesn’t feel Derek walk any closer so he risks a glance up and he can see Derek cast him a critical gaze before turning around and throwing the heavy door closed.

“Get up,” Derek bites out but no Stiles didn’t come all the way here to back down, he didn’t finally make an honest to god decision on his own only to have the decision ripped from his hands.

He’s too close, too wired.

Stiles isn’t letting this slip through his hands and Stiles risks another glance up at Derek this time he bleeds defiance into his eyes and he settles more weight onto his knees but he straightens his spine and more firmly clasps his hands behind his back.

“Get up,” Derek grunts again and Stiles tracks Derek coming closer with his eyes, takes in Derek’s calculated gait and determined eyes.

“I know what I want,” Stiles says letting conviction bleed into not only his voice but his posture.

Derek deadpans before whispering “A few weeks ago you couldn’t make it out of your bedroom every day and you were afraid to even sleep in your own bed. You sleep outside most days.”

“Low blow,” Stiles retorts adding “in case you haven’t noticed I shower and eat two square meals a day. That’s progress ass.”

“Still avoid the pack, in fact your supposed to be at Scott’s house now,” Derek says and Stiles watches Derek look at his phone.

Stiles rocks onto his hind legs before saying, “One step at a time big guy.”

Stiles watches a war of emotions flash across Derek’s face but Stiles knows he’s got this when Derek minutely slumps his shoulders before scrunching up his eyes while he walks closer to Stiles.

“If we do this we’re doing it right,” Derek murmurs and Stiles watches him part the seat of his lone couch as an invitation to come closer.

Stiles takes a risk and crawls over to the open vee of Derek’s legs and remains kneeling hastily adding “I like kneeling please don’t make this into a thing,” when he sees a clouded expression cross over Derek’s eyes.

Derek nods and Stiles feels him scratch his scalp soothingly and he feels a mewl pass through his lips as he lets out a breath and with it some of the coiled tension.

“What do you know about BDSM?” Derek asks continuing to scratch along Stiles’ scalp.

“You could say I know a lot, I wrote a term paper on it freshman year because writing about Romeo and Juliet seems so mundane,” Stiles says smirking.

“Alright I get it,” Derek says rolling his eyes at Stiles. “Where do you store all this information?”

“It’s an art form,” Stiles replies shrugging “so can we do the rope thing now?”

Stiles feels Derek squeeze the nape of his neck, laughing. “That rope thing is bondage and nope, not even close.”

Stiles pouts and watches Derek smirk.

“Since we’re just beginning we’ll use the color system for your safewords, if you want to continue doing this we can revise the system later. But for now the green, yellow, red system will work best,” Stiles hears Derek say as he squeezes the nape of Stiles’ neck.

“Do you know what the colors mean?” Derek asks.

Stiles nods but feels a sudden jolt as Derek grabs a small tuft of his hair, “You need to use your words,” before Derek releases his hair and pats down the unruly mess.

The “sorry,” slips out of Stiles’ mouth easily before he adds “green means continue, yellow means slow down, and red means stop.”

“Good boy,” Derek murmurs close to Stiles’ ear.

“Do you feel comfortable using those for now, do you think you’ll feel comfortable using those in a scene?” Derek asks.

“Yea,” Stiles breathes out enjoying the feeling of Derek scratching his scalp with the pads of his fingers. “I know it’s a two way street with the color system and it makes us both feel comfortable enough in the scene.”

Derek nods, “I need you to use those words no matter what Stiles, I need to know how a scene is going. I’ll never think anything less of you if you need to safeword out I’d rather you be safe than retard what little progress we’ve made.”

Stiles nods and nuzzles his head into the crook of Derek’s neck and relishes the safety of it before asking “So now we can get to the good stuff right?”

Stiles pouts as Derek’s laughter rings out through the loft “So pushy, always knew the real Stiles was under there.”

Stiles feels a pool of warmth erupt from the center of his stomach outwards at hearing the praise and undercurrent of praise and pride in Derek’s voice “Wanna be good for you, for everyone.”

“You are Stiles,” Derek says with finality. “What limits do you have?” Derek asks.

“I can change this at any time right?” Stiles asks cocking his head to the side.

Derek nods, “Of course.”

“Hard limits are no watersports, blood play, knife play, gunplay, and suspension bondage,” Stiles rattles off before stopping and looking Derek in the eyes before continuing “and soft limits are handcuffs, paddling, and humiliation”

Stiles leans into Derek’s feather light touches and smiles when Derek says “good boy.”

“So who’s ready for some bondage because I sure am,” Stiles says in a shaky breath.

Derek laughs, “We’ll have to write this stuff down but for now we can leave it at that,” before he leans down and places a kiss on Stiles’ lips.

“I like that,” Stiles says trying to chase the kiss before he feels Derek ground him with a squeeze of his neck.

“Go wait by the bed, kneel with your hands behind your back,” Derek says a minute later and Stiles smiles shyly as he sashays over to the bed and gets into position but instead of throwing his head down he shifts and exposes his neck to the left in a move reminiscent of submitting betas.

Stiles worries his lips between his teeth, worried that Derek will be irritated at his show of dominance- submission but when he hears the sharp intake of Derek’s breath to the left of him he knows his gesture is appreciated.

“I want you to take off your clothes except your boxers and fold them into piles on the bed then I want you to kneel again,” Stiles hears Derek ask as he watches Derek disappear into his small closet at the other end of the room.

Stiles does as he’s told and relishes the cool air of the loft hitting his overheated skin as he plants his knees on the cold unforgiving concrete of the loft’s floors.

Stiles tracks Derek with his eyes and takes in the grey rope and blue blindfold he grabs from a locked chest before returning the lock to the chest and shutting it with a thud.  
“I’m going to blindfold you but I’ll tell you exactly what I’m going,” Derek says without preamble as he puts the fabric up to Stiles eyes letting him inspect the fabric.

“Green,” Stiles states with conviction.

Stiles sees Derek nod before he feels the blindfold being pulled over his eyes and Stiles thought that the feeling of not being able to see would be disorientating and scary given what the Nogitsune had done but this felt blindfold felt freeing in a way possession never had.

The blindfold heightens the rest of Stiles’ senses and he thinks having his sight taken away from him will help him give into the scene completely, will allow him to not overthink things.

“I’m going to wrap the rope around your thighs and wrists then we’re going to try different positions. That’s it,” Stiles hears Derek say and his voice sounds amplified with the loss of his eyesight and Stiles feels his head nod before croaking out “green.”

Stiles feels a chaste press of lips to the side of his neck before he feels Derek begin wrapping the rope around his things, once, twice, and finally three times before he feels Derek knot the rope.

With each knot and go around of rope Stiles feels himself give into the rope, he feels himself give himself over to the scene and he takes in the burn of his knees, the stiffness of his back from holding the position for so long, and takes in the restrictive, but liberating feel of the rope on his thighs. Stiles tries to widen his stance just a bit and he feels the rope give a little bit before boomeranging back.

“Color?” Derek asks.

“Fucking green,” Stiles slurs enjoying the way Derek’s laugh was amplified around him.

“Look perfect like this,” Derek says and Stiles feels Derek’s calloused hands grab Stiles’ wrist and guide them so they were clasped in the front instead of the back like they were originally before he starts wrapping the grey rope across his wrists with the same precision and care as he had done with his thighs.

“Test them,” Derek asks once he’s finished knotting the rope around Stiles’ wrists and threading another rope to connect Stiles’ wrist and thighs.

Stiles thinks the rope borders on the edge of too snug but the burning feel of it as it digs into his skin feels like a grounding force.

Stiles tries to move but he ends up toppling forward but before he reaches the ground he feels Derek’s strong arms come up to grip his shoulders and center him, “oops,” Stiles murmurs as he tries to focus on centering his weight to hold himself up.

“Feel alright?” Derek asks.

Nodding Stiles says “are these magic ropes because I feel the tension bleeding away.”

“That’s subspace,” Derek murmurs as he runs a hand down Stiles’ blindfolded face.

“I can see why people call it heady, it’s better than smoking weed dude,” Stiles laughs as he feels Derek work his hands down his spine working out the knots beneath his skin.  
Stiles allows himself to relax into the rope, he can move his hands just enough so that he can maintain balance without tipping one way or the other and he can spread his thighs no wider than an extra inch or two.

“I thought I’d feel controlled in the rope but it’s really freeing,” Stiles says moaning as Derek finishes massaging out a kink in his shoulder.

“It’s all about centering your body and getting to know your body again,” Derek says as he shifts Stiles forward a bit letting his head fall forward to meet the edge of his bed as he continues to work his way down Stiles’ back.

“I hated my body even before the possession,” Stiles says in a low voice. “It feels kinda nice now, powerful even but not in a scary way.

“Good,” Derek murmurs before adding, “You are powerful Stiles and that’s nothing to be afraid of. You just have to learn to control your body.”

“Like a werewolf controls his shift?” Stiles asks moving his head in the direction that he thinks Derek is.

“Exactly like a werewolf,” Derek answers.

Stiles isn’t sure how long he stays tied up letting Derek work the rest of the tension out of his body with his magic werewolf hands but by the time Derek works the rope off and pulls the blindfold off he’s floating.

Stiles feels the tip of a straw near his mouth and he sucks on the water greedily before he slumps back against Derek’s chest and cradles one of the rope sets to his chest.

“I like that the rope controls my movements but it’s not too restricting, like I could still move and stuff,” Stiles says once he comes back to his body and doesn’t feel so heavy.  
Stiles hears Derek hum from behind him before he says “Feel better?”

Stiles smiles shyly and nods turning his body over in Derek’s lap so he can face Derek “I feel grounded, different, less buzz beneath my skin before he leans down and kisses Derek before he can second guess the decision.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time so it’s not this heady subspace just so you know,” Stiles says once he breaks their kiss.

“Thank you,” Stiles adds before he lets the loft descend into silence again save Stiles and Derek’s breathing and beating hearts.

It feels right, feels calm to Stiles.  
………………………………………………………………………………

Stiles gets a lot better after his rope scene with Derek. Yes, Stiles still can’t sleep in his room, not that he can get into it these days with Derek swearing him away from his room a couple weeks ago, he still has a hard time eating sometimes and he still hasn’t seen the pack but he’s getting better.

Like his therapist says Rome wasn’t built in a day and every day Stiles feels a bit of the tension roll out of his body.  
………………………………………………………………..

For every three good day’s that Stiles has he has one or two crappy ones and today is one of the latter Stiles thinks and he slams the front door closed and shucks off his jacket as he tries to breathe through the residual anger from his earlier therapy session.

Derek appears in the kitchen as he roughly grabs the bread from the pantry and the leftover turkey from last night’s meal

“Rough session,” Derek asks and Stiles watches the wolf raise his eyebrows as he watches Stiles roughly slather mayo on one side of the bread.

“Here let me,” Derek tries but Stiles sees red and whips around brandishing the dull knife before gritting out “Not an invalid you asshole.”

Stiles watches Derek raise his hands in mock surrender and slink further into the kitchen and hop onto the vacant counter space to the left of the stove.

She says I need to let the pack back in,” Stiles mutters as he lays the turkey across the mayo spread,” as if it’s that easy,” adds Stiles.

“Can only avoid them for so long,” Derek replies simply.

“Why can’t she just give me time, aren’t therapists not supposed to push their clients,” Stiles seethes out topping the sandwich with provolone cheese.

Stiles hears Derek snort beside him and he turns to gaze at the prickly neighborhood watch wolf, a term that Stiles had coined since Derek had started coming around more and more. “You’ve been seeing her for three months,’ Derek states matter of factly.

“Exactly,” Stiles fires back before adding “this shit takes time.”

“This coming from the kid who’s techniques for dealing with things are denial and avoidance,” Derek points out while Stiles scowls deeper before taking a bite of his sandwich. His eating habits are getting better, he isn’t back up to his curly fry stamina but he also isn’t repulsed by the mere thought of food anymore and Stiles waits to swallow his piece before saying “I’ve been doing a lot okay,” wanting it out there that he hasn’t just given up.

Stiles sees Derek nod and point out at the food in his hands “You food habits after better but she wouldn’t push you if she thought you couldn’t handle it.”

“What if I waited too long,” Stiles asks feeling his body deflate.

“Ah, we arrive at the real reason you’re so upset and nervous,” Derek replies smirking.

“Fuck off with the pyscho wolf analyzing,” stiles mutters as he takes another generous bite of his sandwich and snags the chips bag with his other hand.

“Got something to show you,” Derek says and Stiles feels Derek grab his hands and for his part he doesn’t flinch away from the touch which is another testament to how far he’s come he thinks, and he allows Derek to lead him through the living room and up the stairs.

“I don’t put out before dinner,” Stiles laughs at the strangled face Derek makes in retaliation.

“Idiot,” Derek murmurs before adding “open the door.”

Stiles squints his eyes at Derek before he puts his hand on the door handle and pushes it open.

Stiles looks back at Derek and feels him push Stiles further through the open door and into his room? Except Stiles notes as he looks around the room, his eyes drawn everywhere from the bed to the walls to the furniture, nothing about this room remotely resembles the old pig sty his room had been before.

His room had been a microcosm of his life: a ticking time bomb of a disaster with clothes strewn everywhere but this new space, this new clean, inviting space seems to be a microcosm of the new Stiles. It was all clean lines but with a hint of warmness and wornness at the edges.

“Is this why I haven’t been allowed up here?” Stiles asks turning to Derek and smiling a real smile that actually reaches his eyes. Those rare smiles are a hot commodity these days and Stiles thinks that most of the smiles have been reserved for Derek but he tries not to think too heavily about that.

Derek nods before Stiles feels Derek put his arm around his shoulder and direct him to take in the new room.

He bumps Derek’s shoulder against his before he steps out of the embrace and walks over to his new cherry bookcase that proudly showcases a mismatch of school books, his comics collection, as well as supernatural books. “Are these beasteries?” Stiles asks thumbing through one of the heavier books, turning to Derek.

Stiles watches him nod, “Lydia got them from Deaton.”

Again Stiles feels a small smile tug at his lips before he turns back to run his hands over the spines of the books before grabbing a picture off one of the top shelves. In it Stiles has his arm thrown over Scott’s shoulders and the two are laughing at the camera with Stiles in his baseball uniform and Scott proudly holding his foam fingers that was the sign “Stiles’ number one fan,” written in green finger paint.

“Scott was pissed he couldn’t play because of his asthma,” Stiles mutters passing over the picture to Derek before he turns to look at the pictures adorning the case.

There were a lot of Stiles and Scott photos but some are of him and his dad along with a few of the pack interspersed throughout the shelves.

Stiles gravitates towards the photo of him and Lydia from the pack BBQ last summer and in it they both have cake all over their faces and Lydia looks to be in mid tackle. Stiles is broken out of his reverie when he feels Derek’s presence at his back and he hears Derek say, “Lydia was pulling out cake chunks from her hair for an hour,” laughing,  
“She was so pissed” Stiles adds chucking at the memory.

Once he was done looking at the bookcase his eyes light up at the glass pained board in the corner. “This is so cool,” Stiles murmurs as he touches the glass.  
“Parrish bullied your dad into buying it,” Derek says shrugging, adding “now you can put pack stuff on it or research and you can keep it off the walls.”

Stiles smirks before taking a tentative step towards his new bed—unlike his old wooden one he’d had since he was a kid—this one is metal and finished with a cerulean headboard lined with hooks which Stiles scrunches his forehead at.

“What gives?” Stiles asks pointing at the headboard.

“For when we scene,” Derek says and Stiles lets him push him down onto the creamy brown bedspread and enjoys the feeling of Derek straddling his hips.

Derek crashes their lips together before Stiles feels him pull away “It can fit rope and cuffs. You can store the stuff we use in the wire shelving beneath the bed,” Derek says.  
Stiles feels tears clouding his vision and feels the vestiges of anger from his therapy session bleed away and is replaced with e feeling of calmness and warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

He wipes away the falling tears before saying in a cracked voice, “everyone help?”

“They miss you, want to help,” Derek murmurs as he runs a hand through Stiles hair.

Stiles nods his head and takes another sweeping glance of his room, and it feels more like a room than a prison, now with the old blue paint covered up by a rich mossy green color adorning his walls.

The remnants of his breakdown are gone, the photographs and clippings have been replaced with framed photos of the pack, a “Stiles’ rules” canvas but Stiles stops his cursory glance when his eyes fall on a brass seal of the new Argent code mounted on the wall directly facing his bed. Stiles thinks that from the vantage point he’ll be able to wake up to the brass code every morning and it’ll be the last thing his tired eyes see in the evening and he feels more tears burn his eyes.

“Allison,” Stiles murmurs in a wet sob and he feels Derek wrap his arms around his shaking shoulders, “Chris and Isaac made it,” Derek murmurs into the shell of his ear.  
Tears continue to leak out of Stiles’ eyes and a whimper escapes his lips but he feels Derek pull him towards his chest as he rubs the pads of his thumbs in a circular motion  
across the ridges of his collarbone. “None of them blame you they just didn’t know how to help you but they wanted to do something.”

“I thought they hated me, I hate me,” Stiles says rocking rock and forth in Derek’s arms.

“Never hate you,” Derek whispers out and Stiles feels the prickly sensation of Derek’s heard rubbing against his cheek, anchoring him to the present.

“No more hiding,” Derek adds.

Stiles nods before he allows Derek to pull his head down to his chest and Stiles allows the scent of his new room, his new beginning, waft over him and he wonders why he ever thought the pack wouldn’t accept him back as he takes in all the work the pack put in to creating this new room.

“Recovery doesn’t feel so bad right now,” Stiles says tracing idle patterns on Derek’s bicep.

Stiles looks back at Derek’s hesitant smile and he feels like coming home, feels like he’s finally reached the top of the water and it feels right.

Stiles crashes his lips against Derek’s and drinks in the lingering taste of coffee and drives deeper chasing the smell of toothpaste and Derek’s aftershave with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.  
……………………………………………………………………………………….

“You sure you want this,” Stiles hears Derek ask below him a few weeks after the big room reveal. Again, just like the rope scene with Derek after the room reveal things got monumentally better. Each morning Stiles takes in the room, drinks in all the work the pack had done for him and on days where it feels like he’s taking a step backwards in his recovery he lets the room become his refuge and allows it to lift him up.

Stiles ruts his hips downward snickering at the veiled lust he can see take over Derek’s eyes before they clear, become alert and focused. “Come on wolf boy.”

“I’ve been wanting to break in this bed for the past week but been too tired,” Stiles adds as he passes the rope and blindfold to Derek shifting his head to the left and exposing his neck for Derek, submitting to Derek.

“You gave sleeping beauty a run for her money,” Derek mutters against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

“My very own wolf charming would have saved me,” Stiles replies relishing the tightness of the rope against his skin, enjoying the heady thrill of feeling his body shut out all outside distractions as he watches Derek slip the rope into the headboard before Derek turns over once again to face Stiles.

“Look good like this,” Derek murmurs before Stiles feels the press of Derek’s lips against the side of his mouth.

“Safeword?” Derek asks and Stiles feels some of the tension bleed out of his body feeling Derek rest his hands against Stiles’ naked body. Stiles gets lost in the feeling of the pads of Derek’s thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his hipbone.

“D..D..Duke,” Stiles stutters out looking directly into Derrek’s green hazel eyes. Stiles has been getting better at making direct eye contact and even though every bone of Stiles’ body was screaming submit Stiles likes to test the limits, rock the boat.

Derek nods before Stiles watches him hold up the blindfold and lets him inspect the felt blackout fabric. “Green,” Stiles says and he watches Derek before he feels Derek tie the blindfold snugly behind his head.

“Feel good?” Derek asks in the same authoritative tone Stiles had heard Derek use when training his former betas.

“Peachy,” Stiles breathes out feeling his body settle into the burn of the rope rendering his hands immobile.

Stiles thought that after the Nogitsune he’d never feel comfortable being in control again, never thought he’d be able to make simple decisions like what to eat in the morning without warlike flashback erupting before his vison. Never thought he’d feel comfortable in his body again but as Stiles allows his body to buck into Derek’s touches and feels his muscles go pliant beneath Derek’s ministrations he knows that in Derek Stiles has found control. In giving up his control to Derek he has found safety and fought his way to the surface of his body and no longer does he feel like he’s drowning and Stiles breathes in that bliss.

“Snarky,” Derek mutters from below Stiles and Stiles grinds his ass down meeting Derek’s clothed cock.

“Too many clothes,” Stiles whines out as he fees Derek stroke his cock and he thrusts up into Derek’s hands.

Derek cants his hips up to meet Stiles’ grinds and he can tell that Stiles enjoys the delicious friction if his moans are anything to go by.

“Get naked,” Stiles breathes out defiantly.

“Pushy,” Derek replies even as he pushes his sweatpants and boxers down in one go so they pool around his ankles.

“Lube’s in the drawer,” Stiles whimpers out as he feels the pad of Derek’s thumb circling his clenched hole.

“One of these days I’m going to watch you finger yourself open,” Derek moans as he squirts lube into his hand which he uses to click up the head of his dick.  
“Color,” Derek asks

“So fucking green,” Stiles replies grinning as he felt Derek line up his cock before he pushes in.

“Oh,oh” Stiles moans as he tries to thrust his hips down.

Stiles feels Derek pinch the little skin near his hipbone that’s started to get less tight and flabbier with his increased eating over the past few weeks. “Who’s in charge here,” Derek asks thrusting his cock in deeper as a means of emphasis.

Stiles feels the wind being knocked out of him as Derek thrusts in deeper and be barely manages to choke out, “You sir.”

“Good boy,” Stiles hears Derek say but Stiles can’t feel anything beyond the fullness once Derek thrusts all the way in.

“Fuck you’re huge,” stiles pants out, laughing as he pushes his face into Derek’s broad chest and nips at his skin there.

Derek anchors Stiles as he rubs the pads of his fingers up and down Stiles’ arms not allowing him to thrust down or move an inch, forcing Stiles to be present with his body in the moment.

“Move your werewolf ass,” Stiles breathes out.

“Pushy for someone in your predicament,” Derek says laughing as he kisses the side of Stiles pouty lips before he cants his hips up which sends a jolt to Stiles’ cock which is red and leaking beneath their bodies.

“I wanna see you,” Stiles asks in a hesitant voice as he thrusts down to meet Derek’s upward thrusts.

Stiles feels Derek nod against the side of his head before he feels the blindfold being pushed off his head.

“So perfect,” Derek mutters feeling his chest tighten seeing Stiles looking down at him, biting his lips.

“Gonna come Der?”

“Yea, yea me too,” Derek says feeling Stiles’ ass clench around his dick before he feels himself coming in Stiles.

Derek grunts and feels Stiles come against his chest a second later and feels Stiles slump against him and Stiles leaves a trail of kisses across Derek’s collarbone.

“Good for you?” stiles slurs out as he feels Derek unfastening the rope and untying his hands before rubbing feeling back into them.

“Perfect,” Derek says kissing Stiles’ forehead before shifting Stiles so they were lying on their sides facing each other.

“Pretty good yourself,” Stiles replies laughing as he feels Derek clean up the mess between them.

“Who knew my body could feel this good,” Stiles adds enjoying the heavy sensation of the scene comedown.

“Told you I’d make it good for you,” Derek replies earnestly.

“Gonna have to buy you a wolfy thank you basket full of full moon necessities,” Stiles says feeling his body close top crashing but in an oh so good way.

Stiles wiggles his limbs and grabs the bed sheet to cover he and Derek with enjoying the pleasant ache of his wrists and the clear mind. For once the weight of his limbs didn’t seem too heavy or foreign.

It felt right Stiles thinks. Stiles for once in his life feels in control and with each scene between he and Derek he is beginning to learn to enjoy his body once again and it feels so fucking good.

Stiles is pretty sure their winning the war and of the first time in months Stiles feels at home in his body.  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Epilogue

Derek watches from the doorway as Stiles tries to flatten his somewhat unruly hair into some semblance of a style as he runs his produce free hand over his batman t shirt, one of the few shirts Derek knows had remained in Stiles’ new wardrobe after much of the rest of his stuff hadn’t survived Lydia’s closet makeover.

“If we don’t hurry there won’t be any food left what with Scott’s ability to inhale almost everything,” Derek says stilling Stiles’ hands.

Stiles squeezes Derek’s and his intertwined hands and wonders if the butterfly sensation of finally having Derek here, together will ever go away. “Pftt, Melissa loves me more than she’s afraid of Scott’s wolfy eating habits.”

Stiles takes one more look in the mirror before hastily adding “Maybe I should put on something else,” and trying to disentangle himself from Derek long enough to look for another outfit.

“You’re stalling,” Derek says bluntly as he rakes his eyes over Stiles. Stiles hadn’t quote put all the weight back on that he’d lost prior to the possession but the daily runs that he’d taken up added more definition to his body than had been there previously. Derek knows that you can’t quote see it when Stiles wears his regular layers but the extra definition was evident in the fact that simple tasks like showering and walking up and down the stairs didn’t tire him out. But you could really see how Stiles had grown into his new body when the clothes came off and Derek twined ropes over the taut muscles.

“This is the first time I’m seeing everyone together I think a minor panic attack is in order,” Stiles huffs out as he sits down on the bed that Derek had created for him.

“You’ve been talking to Lydia and Scott more recently; it’ll be fine. You know they won’t pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for,” Derek says crouching down in front of Stiles and steadying himself by holding onto Stiles’ knees.

Stiles surges down and captures Derek’s lips in his and he smiles around the kiss when he feels Derek let him dominate the kiss wholly.

What they have, Stiles thinks, can’t be labeled as he breaks away the kiss and leans his forehead down to meet Derek’s as he tries to catch his breath.

Boyfriends seems to trivial whenever it passes through Stiles’ lips, it sounds so inconsequential given everything both of them had faced.

Then, dom/sub doesn’t quiet capture their dynamic either given how Derek had laughed when Stiles had let the word “master” falls from his lips during one of their scenes. Sure Stiles likes the rope play they engaged in, and maybe had been looking around to include some other things in their scenes, but still Stiles thinks neither one truly dominates the other one all the time. When it comes down to it Stiles thinks that he and Derek are simply equals. Despite the age difference and strength difference they were equals in all the ways that mattered, Stiles surmises as he tries to catch his breath.

“Thanks Sourwolf,” Stiles murmurs as he grabs Derek’s hand in his and heads for Roscoe.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Stiles feels the weight of the McCall key burning a hole in his pocket as he knocks on the door. He can’t imagine using it, not right now. Not yet but maybe soon Stiles thinks as he hears Melissa yell at Scott to get the door.

“You have a key idiot,” Scott says barreling out the door and capturing Stiles in an enthusiastic hug.

“Didn’t feel right,” Stiles barely gets out before round two of Scott’s hugging begins. Sprawled out on the lawn with Scott’s face looming over him, Stiles can’t quite remember why he imagined their first meeting going any different, laughing.

Scott after all was the kid who could see the good in anyone no matter whether they could see it in themselves or now, was the same kid that follows all of Stiles’ plans no matter how absurd they are but a small part of Stiles thought that maybe everything that’d happened would have been the last straw despite everything his dad and Derek had been telling him.

Stiles and his therapist had been working through the Scott stuff a lot recently but until Scott had seen in for the first time he couldn’t have been certain.  
“Of course you deserve it bro,” Scott says laughing as he helps him off the lawn.

“I’m sort,” Stiles says and he doesn’t even know what he’s really apologizing for because there’s so many instances where these two words could encompass but his therapist mentioned at his last session that it was important for him to apologize once and for all, for everything, and let that be the end of it.

Scott seems to get it and Stiles watches him swallow around a lump in his throat before clasping Stiles on the back and leading Stiles into the house saying “I know man.”

“Stiles brought his mom’s macaroni salad,” Scott says while he sniffs the bowl and hugs it to his chest protectively eliciting a laugh from Stiles and Melissa.

Melissa was the first one to break out of her stupor and Stiles watches her throw down her dishtowel and throw both her hands around his shoulders and protectively squeeze, “You certainly look better than the last time I saw you, I didn’t believe your dad when he said you were doing better,” Melissa says before Stiles feels her pull him unto a tight hug.

“You did good Derek,” Melissa says glancing back at Derek.

Stiles laughs when Melissa playfully hits him on the head before he sees hear lean in and whisper, “Don’t be a stranger again,” and if Stiles let a few tears slip past as he laid his head on Melissa’s shoulder everyone else was kind enough to not bring it up.

Stiles nods before fishing out a piece of paper and hands it to Lydia before swaying on the balls of his feet.

“Looks like Suzanne won’t be giving you a run for your money,” he says laughing as Lydia lets a small smirk play at the corner of her lips as she reads Stiles’ report card.

“Pfft, as if that was ever a chance but that A- in AP English is weak Stiles, did you bot use my notes,” Lydia huffs out and Stiles feels her playfully hit his arm as he rolls his eyes.

Stiles shrugs before he tentatively reaches out and pulls Lydia in for a hug. “I’m proud of you,” Lydia whispers against the shell of his ear, “but you’re never catching up to my GPA loser.”

“You can have it,” Stiles says raising his hands in defeat as he walks past Lydia giving her shoulder one last squeeze into the kitchen to snag two water bottles when he turns around and yelps as he comes face to face with Kira.

“Not you too,” Stiles moans clutching his heart in mock outrage, “It took me forever to train the puppies to be less stealthy around humans,” as he bends down to pick up the water bottles that dropped to the floor.

Kira, Stiles notes, at least had the decency to look embarrassed “I wanted to come see you but everyone said to wait for you to come around. Plus there’s no card that can apologize for your mom burying a fox demon that then possesses your friend’s best friend. I couldn’t find that in the card section,” Kira says and Stiles watches her push a strand of her hair around the shell of his ear.

Stiles plays with the wrapping of one of the water bottles before he shrugs, looking at Kira and saying “Scott says you helped try to save me, I understand where your mom was coming from.”

Kira nods and Stiles passes her a veggie burger while he grabs one for himself. “My mom said you were a worthy adversary,” Kira says.

Stiles laughs as he walks towards where the others were gathered in the living room before adding “plus anyone that can finally get Scott to watch Star wars in okay in my book.”  
“Those movies are too long,” Scott says morosely as he pushes more macaroni salad into his mouth,

“It’s happening buddy,” Stiles says smirking as he takes a neat by Derek’s feet and leans back content to let Kira’s bickering with Scott over Star Wars and Melisa and Lydia’s mumbling about the fall line of some fashion designer wash over him.

Things aren’t perfect; he still has panic attacks, he occasionally still can’t sleep, and he probably carries around more guilt than his dad and therapist is necessary.  
But.

He isn’t the same kid he was before he was possessed but as Stiles leans into the warmth of Derek’s legs he feels a weight being lifted after being welcomes home by the pack.

He’s getting better.

Stiles is trying and his therapist says that’s all he can do. Stiles doesn’t know what big bad is lurking around the corner to come attack the pack next but he was more sure than ever that he had a place in the pack and everything else can wait.


End file.
